Breaking The Surface
by Luinuial
Summary: He was not afraid of Death, but was he resigned to it? PostAWE, James Norrington fights his way back to the land of the living where he gets another chance at life after he washed up onto the Spanish city of Palma de Mallorca. NorringtonOC. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

So we all know that there will be a lot of fics like this out right now, but I can't help it. James Norrington was one of my favorites, and then he dies, and apparentlty no one cares... I wrote this fairly quickly, so I apologize if there are errors. Kindly let me know and I will fix them. Please enjoy, and please review!

-Elle

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His eyes were heavy, groggy. It took effort to open them, and then longer to adjust to the light before him, which wasn't much. A solitary lamp sat before him, rocking back and forth. It took him a moment to realize he was rocking back and forth as well. It was comforting though, it reminded him of the rock of the sea… He straightened at the thought.

Cold eyes took in his dark surroundings. He could see other lights in the distance, surrounding him on all sides, shadows of figures and hunched shapes. His hands gripped the sides of the small rowboat he was in, and it was clammy to the touch.

It took him some time to remember what had happened, but he mused silently on his own as he continued to rock with the gentle waves that bore him forward to what he could only assume was the afterlife.

He remembered being disgusted with himself as he saw Elizabeth refuse his quarters, furious for not seeing through the schemes of Cutler Beckett. Furious that Wetherby Swann, a man who only wanted to best for everyone, had been mercilessly thrown out. Furious at himself for joining hands with Davey Jones, even if only because he'd been ordered to. He remembered Elizabeth's cold words about choosing sides and was, if possible, even more disgusted with himself.

He reached atop his head, holding the exquisite hat he'd been given when he had been taken back into the service of England. The gold thread seemed to mock him.

He'd sunk as low as Jack Sparrow, playing each side for his own gain. And what did he get, for his treachery? He was an Admiral—or, he had been, he reminded himself—but he was an Admiral who was totally under the control of the East India Trading Company. He told himself he did what he did to get his old life back, but what he got was nothing like his old life. He would have preferred scrubbing the decks of the Black Pearl under the despised Sparrow rather than be summoned like a lap dog to Cutler Beckett.

And so, he stolen the keys, set them free, and in doing so, had gotten himself killed.

But for a just reason, he thought. After months of chasing Jack Sparrow, stealing the chest for his own gain, after serving the Company and taking orders from a man he could not stand, watching hopelessly as the Governor fell more under Beckett's control, he, James Norrington, had chosen his side. And he stood firmly by his decision, he realized as he continued to sway with the boat. He had looked Death in the eyes and taken it willingly, content with his choices, refusing the offer of servitude from Jones.

He set his hat on the floor of the meager boat and his hands found their way to his chest and he groped for the wound that had ended his life. He couldn't feel a heart beat beneath his hands, but he was not at all surprised. He knew by now he was dead. He started though, when he found the rough patch of flesh that now covered the hole that the Dutchman crewman had stabbed through him.

He looked down, pulling his still stunning coat and shirt aside. Both were stained with blood. The flesh was grotesque, purple in color, forming a perfect, round hole right below his left breast. He knew there to be a similar mark on his back, he could vaguely remember the feel of the blade exiting him. He shuddered, removing his hands from his chest and resting his elbows on his knees.

He felt the air around him thin and he refocused his eyes to his surroundings. He realized it was getting lighter. The light of his lamp wavered and the other figures became clearer to him.

Every manner of person seemed to be flowing along with him, all silent, all dead. He watched as a pair of Naval officers drifted past, he thought he recognized them, but he couldn't be sure. They didn't notice him, their eyes were glazed and they stared blankly ahead. On his other side, a young woman sat in a remarkable gown, tears streaming down her cheeks, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Behind him, an old man, rubbing what looked like a necklace between his fingers, murmuring to himself.

Were all these people so resigned to death, he wondered, fixing his eyes back to the lamp in front of him. Was he resigned to it? He didn't fear it, he knew that for certain, had he been, he would have taken Jones' offer to serve like a coward. No, he wasn't afraid of death. But still… he didn't quite feel that he was ready for it, nor did he want it.

With a determined flick of his wrist, he picked the mocking hat up from the ground and flung it into the water, where it made no sound, but continued to float forward. He stood then, slowly, unsure if his legs could hold his weight still. He was relieved to discover they could. He turned his head from side to side, watching the two soldiers, then the young woman who still shed silent tears. Finally, he turned his back on the lamp and stared at the old man who now held the necklace to his heart.

He removed his coat then, and threw it in the same manner he had his hat. It too began to drift eerily forward.

He had no more use of such things. They now reminded him of something he despised, something that he had been. He thought about kicking off his boots as well, but dismissed the idea. He wasn't sure if it would work… but he found no harm in trying.

With the agile grace of a seasoned swimmer, he propelled himself up and out of the small boat and into the dark water, where he made no sound as he broke the surface. Then, with determined, strong, practiced strokes, he swam.

Away from the boats, away from the lamps. He swam away from the coat and hat he had received for his own treachery and greed. He swam past the other boats, past the old man, none of who took any notice of him.

He could feel the inexplicable pull towards the afterlife in the water as he cut through it, feel the calling of a peaceful rest. But he plowed onward in the opposite direction.

He swam for what felt like an eternity. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know if he could even go anywhere. But it wasn't as if he would die for trying.

He began to feel warm again, he realized as his arms finally began to weaken, and he found it odd that a dead man would feel warmth or fatigue. But he ignored both sensations and continued.

Out of no where, he found himself being drawn under the dark water, pulled down by a force he could neither see nor grasp, though he tried futilely to relinquish it's hold on him. He could feel himself running out of oxygen, feel the strain against his chest. He wondered if it mattered, since he was already dead, but the feeling still worried him, causing him to clutch at his mouth, his eyes wide.

Then, as suddenly as the force appeared, it disappeared. He could see a bright light ahead of him, and he realized it might be his last chance.

With all the energy he had left, he propelled himself towards it, kicking with all his might. And at last, with a flash of green light, James Norrington broke the surface of the water and knew at once he had come back to the land of the living.

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Well, as you can see, this could go just about any where. Which I admit, I like. Please review!

-Elle

**Edit: I really appreciate the response I'm getting from this. I am pretty willing to continue this, but if I do I feel like I should warn you that it will be a Norrington only story, with a variety of OC's. I think James needs a break from piracy and Britain... and Elizabeth. If continued, it will be a Norrington x OC pairing. You are forewarned.**

**As always, please review and let me know your thoughts!!! **


	2. Chapter 2

Well, here we go with chapter two! I had originally wanted this to take place in Italy, but I don't know any Italian, so I wouldn't be able to through little phrases or words in, which I like to do. So, Spain! And hey, I'd love to wash up in Palma de Mallorca... Our OC gets introduced now, and hopefully some people will catch on to her specific attributes that will be somewhat significant in later chapters when James comes to terms with everything, etc.

Enjoy!

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The sun was warm against his back, surrounding him like a warm embrace as it dried his wet clothes and kept him from shivering as he lay face down in the sand. He didn't have any idea as to where he was. He hadn't opened his eyes since he'd crawled up from the water and stumbled into the sand hours before. It was dark then, so he knew it was daytime now. He was oddly content to lay there with the sun on his back, quietly cherishing the feel of heat, something he knew he would not have felt ever again had he remained in the dreary little row boat that had been bringing him to the afterlife.

The waves began to crawl up the shore, slowly reaching his feet, which were still stuffed into the wet leather of his boots, then his ankles, now nearly halfway up his calves. He knew he should struggle up the shore more, but he felt as if even the idea of moving would tire him out more than he already was.

And so, James Norrington lay there, letting the waves make their way up his legs and re-wet his breeches, his arms out in front of him, making fists in the sand. He breathed slowly, ignoring the feeling of sand particles swirling about his face as he inhaled and exhaled. He didn't care at the moment, he just needed rest. The trip back from the haunted waters, then back to land in the real world had been more than exhausting. He had no idea how many miles he'd swam or how long he'd been in making his way back from the world of the dead. Did time pass differently, there? Had years passed? He wasn't sure. Making his way back to land seemed like it had taken an eternity, though he knew it had taken only a day.

A full day of swimming through the ocean, resting only briefly on debris he had found floating through the seemingly empty ocean. He figured a storm must have passed recently as he often swam through wrecks, grabbing onto pieces of torn ships to rest his arms and legs. He'd passed a floating body every now and then, and he vaguely wondered if he'd seen or passed the person on his way out of Death. But his thoughts didn't linger on such things. He was determined to make it to land or, he figured, die trying. If he'd escaped once, what was there to say he couldn't do it again?

A small smirk found its way across his cracked, dried lips as he lay in the sand. He wondered how many souls had figured out how to cheat death, or if that's really what he had done. How was he to know if this was just some other side of the realm of the dead? He wasn't, he knew, but everything around him felt real, as it had not in the rowboat he had sat in a day before.

The wind stirred his dark brown hair and he quickly closed his mouth to keep any more sand from entering it. He had lost his powder-white wig during his journey back to the real world, though he did not miss the thing in the least. It, like his admiral's hat and coat, reminded him of things he was ashamed of and never wanted to relive. The wind picked up, more fiercely this time, causing the waves to reach higher up along his body, almost reaching his waist.

He could hear the sounds of a town in the distance, he couldn't guess what size, but it sounded much like the marketplace in Port Royale. He still did not attempt to rise though, or open his eyes. The fact that he could tell he was at least close to a city of some sort comforted him. He knew he wasn't going to die again any time soon from something like starvation or thirst.

James couldn't resist cracking another smile as the waves crossed over his hips, beginning to drench his shirt again.

He really _had_ cheated death, he thought, and then he drifted back to sleep.

---

It was nearing noon, and the market place was crowded as ever. Children ran unsupervised through the stalls, yelling and laughing as they evaded one another. Chefs prowled the place, inspecting every item with scrupulously trained eyes, tossing out any vegetable or fish at the sign of even the slightest imperfection. Wine sellers boasted their vintages, each trying to out do their neighbor. The smells and sounds of the Mediterranean Sea filled the Spanish city of Palma de Mallorca.

One could see the crystal blue reflected in the distance, if you stood high enough up with a clear view straight out. The sun cast the image of diamonds on the water, making it shine with an indescribable iridescence. Even those who'd lived in the city all their life, seen the waters every day, as well as the grand, white washed buildings built into the cliffs and on the coast, the green trees, exotic flowers still managed to have their breath stolen when they stared out across the water, into the horizon.

Perched on the top of a smooth stone, her bare feet dangling into the warm sea waters, her skirts pulled up past her knees which resting in her lap beneath a heavy sketch book, a young woman couldn't help think these very things. Her fingers worked together with the piece of charcoal she held in one hand, blending, rubbing, smoothing, as she made dark, bold lines on the creamy white paper. A horizon was taking shape on the sheet, the very horizon that stretched out before her.

A stark red ribbon held her thick, black locks from billowing out into the wind in a loose braid that fell over her shoulder, brushing just below her breasts. Her skin was dark, both from the sun and her own heritage, and her lips were a natural deep burgundy that many likened to wine. Her eyes were round, she often felt they stood out too much from her face, but she adored the deep chocolate color they possessed.

These chocolate eyes were flicking back and forth with practiced ease as her hands moved almost on their own accord, recording the scene she saw before her accurately on the paper in her lap. Drawing was one of the few things she did where she felt truly at peace; she could completely immerse herself in her work. That, and her Uncle loved her many sketches and paintings.

Vitalia Marinella had lived with her father's brother for as long as she could remember. He had legally brought her into his own family, a family that consisted only of him and his barren wife, years ago, after her parents had died, but he refused to let her call him father.

"Your father was a great man, _preciosa_," he would tell her when she was younger, stroking her cheek and smiling sadly. "Honor him by not replacing him."

As per her uncle's wishes, Vitalia did honor her father, as well as her mother. Every morning, she would say a prayer to them in the chapel inside her aunt and uncle's home. She would light a candle for each of them, telling them softly of her plans for the day, or some new fashion or interesting piece of news, then thank the old priest who kept the chapel and leave to go about her day. Vitalia didn't remember her parents, she had been four when they had gone, but she still felt connected to them, through her prayers as well as the stories her aunt and uncle shared with her.

Vitalia narrowed her eyes as the wind picked up suddenly, blowing the pages of her sketchbook as she continued to draw. It hadn't been windy when she'd began the long trek from her uncle's home down to the beach that was connected to it. She didn't dislike the wind of the sea, but it was awfully annoying to try and deal with it when she was sketching. She had torn the page she was currently working on out of her bound book so she could maneuver it in a way that would make her shading easier, but she was beginning to regret that now as it threatened to escape from her lap.

An unexpected gust sent the page flying from her grasp and she let out a stream of choice words she knew her aunt and uncle would frown upon her using. The page was lifted up into the air, swirling lazily, and then was pushed down the shoreline as it twirled through the air. Vitalia quickly shoved her sketchbook and charcoal into the canvas bag she had brought down to the sea with her and leapt up and then down into the sand, the bag slung over her shoulder.

She knew she must have made quite a sight, running down the sandy beach barefoot, her skirt hiked up around her ankles, her hair flying wildly behind her. Not the typical idea of a Spanish noble. But she was desperate to get her sketch back. She had been working on it all morning and was not about to let it go so easily.

The sand was cool beneath her feet and slid between her toes as she ran, but she didn't care. She loved the beach, she had spent many hours in the sand and water as a child and still enjoyed doing so now, but she was more focused on catching her sketch before the sea claimed it than enjoying the feeling of the sand around her.

Her eyes kept watch on the paper in the air and she never let it out of her sight, rarely looking back down to the ground in front of her as she ran.

It was because of this that she took no notice of the body that had washed up on shore. Vitalia realized her mistake once she had lost her footing; her foot sliding beneath the arm of the man she now found herself sprawled across. Her eyes watched the sky as she fell, her drawing slipping out into the clear blue water of the Mediterranean Sea.

At once she turned her attention to the thing onto which she'd fallen, then let out a gasp as she sat up, pushing herself off of his body. "_Mi Dío_…" she said softly, her eyes taking in the battered appearance and wet clothes. It took her a moment to realize that his face was pulled tight, as if wincing. Then, before her eyes, it relaxed, and she realized he was not dead.

Her sketch now completely forgotten, Vitalia turned on her heel and ran up the stone steps built into the cliffs behind her, up to her uncle's house.

"_Tío! Tío!_" she yelled breathlessly as she ran into the houses library, nearly colliding with him as she ran through the door.

"Vitalia," he said, his eyes wide and mouth set in a concerned line, "what is it?"

"There a man, on the beach," she spoke rapidly, her breath rising and falling quickly, "he's still alive, he must have been in a wreck."

Her uncle's eyes filled with concern and he nodded to her, tossing the book he'd had in his hands aside, his face now serious. "Bring me to him."

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Woo! I'm excited!

Hopefully the response to this will be positive as well, if not, I don't know how much will continue. So please, review!

-Elle


	3. Chapter 3

Well, here we have chapter three. I'm not sure how happy I am with this chapter-- some parts I still think are rather awkward-- but I wanted to try and update before the weekend. The apartment will be full with people most of the weekend and one of my best friends from New York will be here, so I won't have much time to write between her and my giant bio lab that I have due next week (It's times like these I wish I'd gone back home and not decided to be ambitious and take a summer class).

Anyways, enjoy!

And '_miel_' means 'honey' in Spanish, for those of you who don't know.

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Vitalia followed behind her uncle as he carried the man, hoisted over one shoulder, up the steps to the main house. She studied his face as they ascended. He didn't appear Spanish, possibly French or English, she observed, but it was hard to tell since his face had been tanned from the sun and he was at the moment, to say the least, quite a mess. His hair was dark brown in color and reached below his neck in a tangled knot, caked with sand and seaweed. She figured it was probably lovely once cleaned and combed.

She helped her uncle enter the house, calling for assistance as he carried the man through the door. Her aunt came out from her sitting room and looked alarmed for a moment, but then rushed off for more help. Her uncle made his way quickly up the servant's stairs and deposited the man on the bed of a particularly large guest room.

"Armand," came her aunt's voice as she entered the room, carrying a basin of water and a few rags, "is he alright?"

Vitalia's uncle glanced at his wife and smiled slightly, "He doesn't appear to be in any danger at the moment, Adela. I think we should let him rest, though." He motioned for the basin and rags; "Tell Miguel to come help me get him out of these wet things and clean him up."

Vitalia was out of the room with her aunt in search of the house's butler, who appeared within a moment, nodding as he passed the two women.

"Where did you find him?" her aunt Adela asked as they returned to the main floor.

"Down by the steps on the beach," Vitalia answered, sitting down in a small armchair. "He was just laying in the sand, I thought him dead…" she smiled slightly then added, "I tripped over him."

Adela raised a delicate eyebrow at her niece. "You didn't notice a body lying in the sand?"

A blush colored her cheeks and she shook her head, "I lost a sketch and was chasing after it."

Adela laughed, a light musical sound, and she sat down beside Vitalia. "I would say it was a good thing you did, _miel_," she smiled brushing a few wisps of Vitalia's black hair off of her face, "else our guest may have washed back into the sea."

---

James felt the sensations of movement about him, felt himself being lifted and carried, to where he did not know, but he did not stir. He felt as if his very soul was tired, worn out from his journey. The voices around him sounded like distant whispers and he paid them no mind, simply drifting deeper and deeper into a deep slumber one could describe as 'living death'.

He wasn't aware of the days passing as he slept, and he had vague memories of someone spooning broth and cold water to his cracked lips. He was grateful, and wished he could say so, but exhaustion still consumed him.

When he was finally able to open his weary eyes, he found himself in a large bed, a very comfortable one, he observed, taking in as much of the room as he could without actually moving. The room was simply furnished but possessed an air of elegance with a silver lined mirror and rich paintings on the walls. It was light outside, he could tell from a window to the right of the bed, but the hazy glow of sunset painted the sky.

As his eyes took in the colors of the sky outside, James became aware that there was another being in the room with him. Turning his head slightly to look directly at his side, he was met with the sight of a young woman curled up in a large armchair, dozing peacefully, with a notebook open in her lap.

"Elizabeth…?" he croaked quietly, his voice raw as he tried to make sense of this woman.

---

Vitalia spent a few hours each day sitting with their mystery guest as he slept. Armand had advised that someone should be with him at all times incase he woke, and Vitalia aided with the task happily. She enjoyed the man's presence, since she couldn't really call it his 'company'—he still continued to sleep. She would sit beside the bed her uncle had placed him in and draw quietly, attentive for any signs that he was waking. She was comfortable in the room with him, though it really didn't say much, she realized half-heartedly, since all he did was sleep.

She wondered what kind of man he was, where he'd come from, what he did… she liked to ponder these things as she sat in the silent room, listening to his peaceful breathing.

Her uncle and aunt had discussed such things over dinner one evening, and Armand had told his wife and niece that he believed that man had a kind face and would be no trouble in their household.

"How do you judge a kind face?" Vitalia had questioned, generally interested in her uncle's firm belief that the man upstairs was a good man, when he had never met him while he was conscious.

"When he sleeps," Armand had said as twirled a strand of pasta around his fork, "his face is always peaceful, and there are no harsh lines around it… he has a wound on his chest though," he added as an after though, crinkling his brow, "that passes right through him. It's a miracle he survived."

"He has a gruesome wound and you think he's a good man?" Adela asked her husband lightly, arching one eyebrow above clear gray eyes.

Armand nodded, "I don't know how he got it, obviously, but I still say, despite his awful chest scars," he smiled, "that our sleeping guest is no trouble. He won't kill us in our sleep."

Vitalia was half tempted to see this wound for herself after that evening's dinner, but she forced herself to leave the poor man alone. If the wound had been as bad as her uncle had described, she wouldn't want to terrorize the poor man anymore by having him wake up with a strange woman examining his naked torso. Not to mention, a circumstance like that would be highly embarrassing for _both_ parties.

On this particular day, Vitalia had curled up in the chair beside the bed with her sketchbook and began to draw the sleeping man before her. He was handsome, she was not afraid to admit—and she also felt she was quite right in her decision: she had spent hours with him where she was able to gaze upon him as she liked, and many of the female servants in the house took it upon themselves to check on him at any opportunity they had.

She smiled slightly to herself as she drew. She knew her aunt would find her actions childish and amusing, but she couldn't help herself. It wasn't as if she was doing any harm. He was just a subject to her, a beautiful one at that, and she was just an artist. At least, that's what she told herself.

She sighed and leaned her head back against the chair, scrutinizing her work. The man's hair was giving her problems. She couldn't get it to fall right on the page and it was beginning to frustrate her. She attempted once more to capture the waves in it as they fell from his forehead, and then gave up with a resigned sigh as she failed once more, placing her charcoal pencil on the table that stood beside her chair.

Vitalia closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the cushions. She had forgone her daily siesta today to help her aunt with a seating chart for an upcoming dinner, and was beginning to feel the loss of regular rest take its toll on her body.

She hadn't meant to drift off, but it happened none-the-less. She wasn't sure how long she had dozed, but she awoke to the sound of an unfamiliar, hoarse voice.

"Elizabeth…?"

Vitalia's eyes flew open and she stared at the man, who was staring back at her, a look of pure confusion on his face.

"No," she said quickly, "no, I'm not Elizabeth. You washed up on shore a few days ago, my uncle and I carried you up and…" she trailed off as she realized the man wasn't comprehending a word she'd said.

He blinked slowly at her. "You don't speak English, do you…?" his tone was dull.

Vitalia nearly smacked herself. Of course this man wasn't Spanish! Hadn't she decided that earlier? She had been taught English since she was six year old, and so nodded to his question, and then began once more in lightly accented English.

The man's face was one of relief when she began once more in a dialect he understood.

---

James hadn't been surprised to find out the woman before him was not Elizabeth. What were the chances of him escaping death and returning to Port Royale? He was sure they weren't very good, and here he was to prove it. As he studied her, he was amazed that he even thought her to be Elizabeth.

This woman, while appearing the same age as the young Miss Swann, had tanned skin and dark hair, where Elizabeth was fair in both respects. Elizabeth's face spoke of innocence and grace, while this woman's spoke of both passion and mystery.

His heart fell as she began to speak to him in rapid Spanish, of which he only understood a few words. He had never had a knack for languages and had never been taught anything but English as a boy. He hadn't bothered with learning a second tongue once he'd joined the Navy, and did not afterwards either. He silently regretted that fact now. The woman seemed to notice the confused look on his face and stopped speaking immediately.

"You don't speak English, do you…?" he asked half-heartedly, watching her from his place on the bed, head still nestled comfortably on a pillow.

The woman appeared to compose herself then began again, slowly. "I'm sorry, I'm not Elizabeth," she told him, though she was sure he had already figured such a thing out. "I found you on the beach a few days ago, my Uncle carried you here." She was proud that she had managed to string together a comprehensible set of sentences.

James looked at her carefully before speaking again. "Where am I?"

"Palma de Mallorca, Mallorca," she said, then added "Spain."

He closed his eyes and let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. Spain. That wasn't so far off…

"How long have I been here?" he asked after a moment. He was trying to gauge how long his journey from the afterlife to the land of the living, then to land, had actually taken.

"Four days," was the response. The woman glanced around the room suddenly, perking up at the sound of noises some where outside of the room. "Will you wait a moment?" she asked politely, rising from her chair, "I will go get my uncle."

James looked at her and nodded, then called out to her, "Wait." It was more of a question than a command.

The woman was at the foot of his bed and turned to him. He couldn't help admit her beauty was quite stunning, even in his current predicament. "Yes?"

"Thank you," he said, and he meant it.

"You're welcome, _Señor_," she said with a brilliant smile, and then quickly departed the room.

James lifted himself up from the mattress as she left, ignoring the stiffness in his limbs as he made his way into a sitting position. He slowly turned his neck from side to side, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the tightness of his muscles. He was grateful that he had been found by the people he had been, and he shuddered to think what would have happened if he'd been found by someone less honorable. If he had just now woken from four days of slumber, four days of which he could barely recall anything, he could very well have found himself back in the little wooden boat he'd taken his leave of four days ago.

He had finished stretching his arms and neck when the sounds of rapid Spanish reached his ears. He turned his attention to the open door and watched as a man, probably no more than five years older than himself, came through the door way. He resembled the woman who had been with him when he'd woken, but slight facial differences told him that he was her uncle, not a father or brother.

"Good evening, my name is Armand Santigo," the man said as he smiled down at James as he drew level with the bed. "It is good to see you awake, finally." His English, like the young woman's, was near perfect, save for the slight accent that lingered on vowels and small parts of certain words.

"James Norrington. Thank you," James said again, looking up at the man, who's smile broadened.

"Thanks are not necessary," he said, "Now tell me," he made he was around the bed and sat down in the recently vacated armchair, "how you came to be washed upon my beach with an awful wound on your chest and sleep for four days."

James took a breath then launched into his tale, weaving it so it would be believable—conveniently leaving out all mention of Davey Jones and the small rowboat he'd leapt from to regain his life. He told Armand that the wound was old and had miraculously not killed him a year ago.

Armand listened attentively to James' story, which after it had been censored, came down to his being out with his crew and being caught by pirates. It was close enough to the truth, he figured. He left out where he had been sailing, how ever, for he knew that the spot where he had been killed was too far from Spain to make a swim to shore believable.

"A stroke of luck you survived and managed to make it to shore," Armand said after James had finished, "what with the storms that have been through the Mediterranean, not to mention other pirates. You are lucky, my friend," he said with a smile.

James could only nod.

Armand glanced around the room then, seeming to collect his thoughts. "It is nearing seven o'clock, Mr. Norrington, we do not dine here for some time yet, but if you are hungry I can arrange for some food."

"That would be most appreciated," James replied, smiling honestly at Armand. He was only just realizing how hungry he was.

"I can have fresh clothes for you and a bath drawn as well, if you like," he said, rising. "It will be a little bit before the chefs will have something ready."

"Again, it would be most appreciated," James said with a rather embarrassed smile. He suddenly became aware of the state he was in. He could feel the grime caking his skin. At the same time, he was not used to being taken care of, and was slightly abashed by the whole concept of it.

"Very good," Armand said and turned to leave, then stopped as something on the floor caught his eye. He reached down and picked up the notebook James had seen on the lap of Armand's niece. Armand looked at the notebook, then to James, and smiled. "It appears my niece has found you an interesting subject," he said lightly.

James gave him a look that clearly said he didn't know what he was talking about.

Armand smiled again then deftly tore the first page out of the book, causing James to wince slightly, and handed it to him. "I will have my manservant come and aid you with the bath, if you need it," he said, and then disappeared from the room, his niece's notebook in hand.

James stared down at the paper Armand had given him. He was more than a little surprised to find his own, sleeping face etched onto the surface. The life-like quality of the work surprised him as he studied the detail. As his eyes moved slowly over the sheet, his eyes came to rest on the right hand corner of the drawing. In elegant, sloping letters, she had signed her name.

"Vitalia," he said aloud to himself, and he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the way the exotic name floated off his tongue.

* * *

Oh, James... I apologize for putting you through such awkwardness...

As always, PLEASE REVIEW with comments, criticisms, suggestions, etc.

I will try and update as soon as I can, but don't expect anything till next week.

-Elle


	4. Chapter 4

Vitalia stared at her uncle, who was smiling broadly, obviously rather please with himself. "You _what_?"

"I gave him your drawing," Armand repeated, his eyes twinkling.

"Why?" Vitalia asked exasperatedly, following her uncle around the main living room as he made his way to the kitchen. "What made you think that was a good idea? Let alone an appropriate one?"

Vitalia was remotely horrified that the man, James Norrington her uncle had informed her, was now in possession of the sketch she had drawn earlier in the day. The sketch that was, unmistakably, of _him_.

"The fact that is was so beautifully done, of course," Armand replied over his shoulder and Vitalia could tell that he was smiling smugly, "You know how I feel about your art, _preciosa_, its wonderful."

"But that doesn't mean you can give it a way when you find it lying on the ground!" The fact that a man she didn't know was currently in possession of a drawing she had done of him, while he'd been _asleep_, was starting to get to her in the form of sever embarrassment.

"Then you shouldn't have left it on the ground," was her uncle's response as he instructed the chefs to prepare a small, hearty meal for James, who was getting cleaned up and changed as they spoke.

"I dropped it when I went to get _you_ because _he'd_ woken up!" she said slowly, closing her eyes and clenching her fists at her side. She was very glad that she was an only child. She had enough of an immature brother with her uncle.

"Don't be so embarrassed, Vitalia," he said, turning to her with a grin. He reached over and tweaked her nose in a fashion that made her roll her eyes and slap his hand away. "I'm sure he'll find it very flattering."

---

If James was honest with himself, he was rather flattered by the drawing, as well as in silent admiration of it's quality. Despite his high ranking status is Port Royale, he had never had portraits of himself done, mostly because he didn't see the need for them. Why would he want a giant version of himself staring down at him from his study?

He had gratefully taken Armand's offer of a bath and was currently soaking his knotted muscles in a steaming tub, working his neck from side to side in an attempt to regain full range of motion. It felt good to be clean. He felt as if he was washing away much of the past, though he knew some of his more distasteful actions would never truly leave him he thought to himself, his mouth set in a grim line. But there was always a chance for a new beginning. The fact that he was even in a tub at the moment instead of doing whatever one does when they are dead was testament to it.

Warily, James glanced down at his chest and stared at the wound which had killed him. It didn't look as grotesque as he thought it would, but it still wasn't something he would classify as 'nice to look at'. The flesh around and covering the wound was slightly puckered, as it would be for the remainder of his life, with a slightly dark, purple tint. He ran a hand over the scar tissue and sighed, closing his eyes as he exhaled, then quickly dunked his head under the water to remove the remaining sand and grime from his hair.

Upon rising from the porcelain tub and entering the attached dressing room, James noticed that a set of fresh clothes had been laid out for him on the counter of a vanity dresser. He noted his own boots sat beside the new garments, obviously dried, and they almost looked as if they had been polished. With a small smile, James thanked the gods who had seen fit to let this kind household find him.

He dressed himself in the offered clothing; a pair of dark breeches and black leather belt and a plain white shirt made of a light, airy fabric that reminded him vaguely of the shirt that Jack Sparrow owned. James then made use of the shaving kit that had also been laid out on the vanity, quickly turning his facial scruff into a neatly trimmed beard and moustache that reminded him strongly of the way his facial hair had been when he had joined up with Sparrow and his crew in Tortuga months ago, only more respectable and not so scraggily.

Time was an interesting thing, he thought as he patted his face dry. He had come a long way from the time he had first met the pirate. He then slipped into a dark burgundy tunic had been set out beside his boots, and then deftly slid his feet into his own, worn boots. He was glad that at least some of the things he wore had once been his own, it took away the feeling of being cared for, even if only a little.

James made his way from the dressing room into the bedroom he had awoken in, glancing around it with the air of some one not quite sure what he was to do next. Armand had told him that his meal would be a bit in the making and he wasn't sure if an adequate amount of time had passed. He also wondered if he was to go downstairs where Armand and the rest of his family surely were. His eyes passed over the portrait Armand's niece, Vitalia, had drawn of him as he thought. He stood in the center of the room, his hands at his hips, a motion that felt rather odd in the respect that there was no sword at his left. He stood in this manner for a matter of minutes, unsure of what he was to do.

He was quickly interrupted in his silent pondering as a sharp knock sounded at the closed bedroom door and he crossed the room to open it, not very surprised to see Armand smiling at him from the hallway.

"Are you ready, Mr. Norrington?" he asked in his flawless English.

"Yes," James said with a smile, "thank you, again." He wasn't sure if he could ever actually convey the amount of gratitude he truly felt for Armand and his niece for finding him.

Armand only smiled and turned on his heel, James following close behind him. His eyes took in the simple beauty of the house which he had been welcomed into and he realized he felt quite comfortable. It was obvious that Armand was wealthy, possibly a governor or noble or some sort, but he did not flaunt his wealth as many of the people in such positions seemed to do. Armand lead him down an elegant wood stairway and into what appeared to be the main entryway for the house, which was larger than James had first thought. White marble pillars lined the hall and tiles of the same material covered the floor, the heels of his and Armand's boots clicking soundly as they made their way to a rather informal sitting room.

James was slightly surprised to see that Vitalia as well as another woman, who he assumed was Armand's wife, were seated together on a large, plush sofa. Armand's wife smiled politely as she rose, setting the small book she had been reading on the coffee table before her, gracefully moving towards him and her husband. Vitalia, he noticed, had colored slightly when he entered the room and quickly shut the sketchbook she had in her lap, rising as well. James was sure she knew that her uncle had given him the picture she had drawn of him.

Armand smiled as the two women approached, moving to stand next to his wife. "My wife, Mr. Norrington, Adela," Adela smiled kindly at him and offered her hand. James smiled in return and, determined to prove he was a gentleman and not simply some washed up ruffian, took hold of her hand and brushed his lips politely across the top of it, bowing as he did so.

"We are glad you have finally woken up, Mr. Norrington," she said as James released her hand. Her English was slightly more accented than her husband and niece's, but still very pleasant and easily understood.

"As am I," James said, smiling. His eyes turned to Vitalia, who stood waiting beside her aunt, a delicate blush still coloring her tan cheeks. James found it quite endearing.

"And my niece, Vitalia Marinella," Armand said as he entwined his fingers with his wife's. His eyes twinkled as he watched Vitalia's blush deepen as she offered her hand as well.

"Hello, again," she said with a small grin playing on her full lips, despite the flush in her cheeks.

James bowed once more, brushing his lips over the top of Vitalia's hand, ignoring the feeling that jolted through his body as his lips connected with her skin. James righted himself and smiled slightly, despite the strange feeling still coursing through his body. "Indeed," he said, "and once more, I must thank you for saving me."

Armand let out an exasperate sigh as Vitalia smiled embarrassedly, "I keep telling him that thanks are not necessary, but he will not listen to me. You truly are a stubborn Englishman, Mr. Norrington, more stubborn than any I have had the pleasure to know."

James smiled good-naturedly; he knew Armand was teasing him, and while he wasn't used to such things, mostly because of his previous station and position in life, he didn't mind. He had put his past, most of it at least, behind him. He knew he was no longer a high ranking member of the British Royal Navy, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't really care to be again.

"My apologies," he said as he smiled.

"Yet so humble," Armand added with a grin. "Please, sit down," he motioned to an empty chair across from the couch that Adela and Vitalia had occupied. "I will have your food brought out," and then he disappeared from the room, leaving James with Adela and Vitalia.

Adela smiled and gently urged James into the chair, resuming her position on the couch after he sat. James eased himself into the plush cushion, attempting not to sit as ramrod-straight as he had been prone to do before he'd died.

Vitalia rejoined her aunt on the couch, bringing her sketch book into her lap, her brown eyes flicking to James every so often.

"Where in the British Empire are you from?" Adela asked him politely.

"Port Royale," he answered, "in the Caribbean." He was wary of giving such information in case, somehow, the news of his death traveled to Spain, though he wasn't sure why or how that exactly would happen.

He felt however, he would probably have to come to terms with such things sooner or later. He desperately wanted to know the outcome of the battle with Davey Jones, wanted to know if Elizabeth had survived, if the curse upon The Flying Dutchman had been broken…he knew he had no way of finding such things out at the moment, though, not in his current position. So, he would wait.

Adela thought for a moment, then spoke again, "I'm not personally familiar with the city, but I do understand that you control many of the islands."

James nodded, relieved that she did not know the city by name, though he had a feeling that there was a possibility that Armand might. He seemed like a very worldly man.

"Are they pretty, the islands?" Vitalia asked, genuinely curious.

James nodded again, "Very. The heat is often a little unbearable, but it's livable." He watched Vitalia, taking in her appearance once more.

She sat comfortably on the sofa, and despite his presence, her knees drawn up on the cushion, her ankles hidden by her long skirts. Her dress was simple, but possessed an air of elegance, much like the rich simplicity that the rest of the house and its inhabitants presented. She had her long black hair tied in a loose braid that she had over her shoulder, a sleek red ribbon adorning the end of it, which reached below her breasts.

Feeling a small amount of heat come to his face at the thought of her breasts, James hastily removed his eyes from her hair and back to her face.

The trio sat in silence for a moment, Adela smiling gently, Vitalia had returned eyes to her sketch book, once more picking up her pencil, and James with his eyes wandering the room.

Armand returned then, carrying a silver tray laden with meat, cheese, and bread, as well as an array of fruits. A servant followed behind him. carrying a glass pitcher of what looked like red wine with slices of fruit floating in it, as well as four glasses.

"Do you like sangria, Mr. Norrington?" Armand asked as he set the food tray down on the coffee table before James.

"I admit I am not all that familiar with it," he said, then looked to Armand with sincerity in his eyes, "and please feel free to call me James, Mr. Santigo, I feel like formality can be dispensed with after you've been saved from death."

"Very well," Armand said with a grin, "and in return, I ask that you call me Armand. Mister makes me feel so old."

Vitalia snickered at her uncle, who turned to her with one eyebrow raised, then back to James. "It is a very sweet wine, red usually," he said, gesturing to the pitcher, "with berries and melon in it. Forgive me if I seem pompous in saying so, but it is very much the only way to drink some wines."

James smiled, "I would love to try some."

"Excellent," Armand said, then commenced pouring the wine and fruit into the four glasses, offering one to his wife and niece each, then finally to James. "Please, help yourself, I am sure you are quite hungry."

James took his glass and nodded, "Thank you, Armand." He took a sip from the glass, swishing the wine around his mouth before swallowing. Armand was right, it was indeed very good. Setting the glass down, he began to fix himself a small sandwich, which he consumed rather quickly. Armand took a seat in the chair beside James, sipping his wine slowly, appearing to be deep in thought.

"May I have a grape?" Vitalia asked with a small smile as James finished his second sandwich. She had raised her delicate eyebrows at him, and he found himself grinning at her.

"Please," he gestured, "I don't think I'm hungry enough to eat everything on this tray."

Vitalia grinned and leaned forward, placing her open sketchbook on the coffee table beside her wine glass, and deftly took a small cluster of green grapes from the tray.

"Should I have brought you a tray as well, _preciosa_?" Armand asked in English. James had noticed that they had been conversing with each other in English instead of Spanish, and he was grateful for that as well.

Vitalia made a face at her uncle but said nothing, popping a single grape into her mouth with an air of defiance. Armand only laughed and Adela smiled, returning to her book.

James looked down at the open sketchbook and angled his head so he could clearly see what she had been drawing. It appeared to be a seascape, at sunset, he guessed from the careful shading and reflection of the sun on the water. Vitalia noticed where his gaze was and immediately blushed. He turned his eyes back to her and smiled slightly.

"You're very talented," he said.

"Thank you," she returned with a small smile.

"You should see some of her other work," Armand said with an air of innocence, "besides her landscapes and portraits."

Vitalia glared at her uncle, and James knew he was referring to the picture of him that Armand had given to him.

Trying to quickly remedy the now awkward atmosphere as Armand continued to smile at his niece, James turned his attention back to the blushing young woman. "I would love to, if you would consent to showing me," he said.

Vitalia smiled abashedly, and nodded. "If you wish, once you are finished?" she asked.

James smiled. "Wonderful."

She returned his smile, a genuine one that seemed to light up her entire face, and nodded at him. "After your dinner, then."

James couldn't stop himself from smiling softly at her, even as she picked her sketchbook up once more, returning to work on her seascape. She was beautiful, this young Spanish woman, with an air of flair that James could see from her almost defiant interactions with her uncle, as well as the way she carried herself. She possessed the same sort of elegance that Elizabeth had, he thought, but at the same time she was so very, _very_ different.


	5. Chapter 5

Woo! Chapter 5! After a week long absence, I apologize that this chapter isn't all that long. I pretty much sat around this week and did bio, watched/read Bleach (which everyone should do!!!) and read Queen of the Damned. I admit that Armand's name come from the vampire Armand, but the two really aren't alike at all... I have yet to read 'The Vampire Armand', so right now my impression of him is that he'd kind of a whiny little bastard... who I adore, how ever.

Anyways, you will still find this chapter enjoyable, despite its length. I feel like I'll be able to move the plot along more now, so that's good.

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James finished the meat and bread on the gilded tray a short while later and looked expectantly to Vitalia, who was watching him with a smile. 

"Ready?" she asked, rising from the couch, her closed sketchbook on her vacated cushion.

"Yes," James replied, returning her smile. He stood then, looking around at Armand and Adela, both of whom smiled at him pleasantly.

"This way, then," Vitalia said, moving towards a doorway James hadn't yet noticed. "You may bring your wine if you wish, _Señor_ Norrington."

He reached down and grabbed his glass, moving to stand beside Vitalia, who was waiting for him by the closed door. He glanced back at Armand and Adela, and part of him wondered why neither of them were coming with; surely, Vitalia needed a chaperone?

Armand noticed this and laughed, "Do not worry, James, you are only a room away and I must say I trust you are a gentleman…Vitalia is also perfectly capable at defending herself from unwanted advances, as it were."

James glanced at Vitalia, who had turned a decent shade of red, from embarrassment or annoyance he couldn't tell. She opened the large wooden door then and lead him into what appeared to be a study—Armand's, he assumed.

When standing, the top of Vitalia's head reached just about to James' eyes. She moved very gracefully, he noted as she brought him to one side of the room where a mass of framed pictures, some paintings, some sketches, all done by her, her elegant signature in the right hand corner of each one.

"My uncle is fascinated by my work, or so he says," she spoke as they stood before the wall, smiling slightly. "He thinks it a great tragedy that I have no ambition to move beyond this tiny exhibition to court or the public eye."

James couldn't help but agree with Armand. The pictures before him were incredible, so lifelike yet so magical at the same time. He moved down the line, stopping every few steps to admire the work.

Armand's words about Vitalia's defensive capability were still floating around his head and he couldn't help himself. "Have you had to ward of unwanted advances before, Miss Marinella?" He turned his face toward her and saw she was smiling slightly in a way that resembled a grimace as much as a grin.

"One of my uncle's favorite stories," she said as she drew up beside James, critiquing her own work as well. "I threw my glass of wine at a man once, a pompous…how do you say it…"she thought a moment, then settled on "dandy."

James couldn't help grinning. He could see the situation clearly in his mind, an elegantly dressed young Spaniard attempting to woo the woman before him, crossing the line, then receiving a face-full of red wine. "That must have been quite a sight," he said and smiled down at her.

Vitalia glanced at him and grinned impishly. "I assure you, it was. He never spoke to me again." She moved past him, then, allowing him to look at her work in silence. She stopped before one of her own pieces and stared at it for some time. James couldn't help watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She stood straight with her hands clasped behind her back and her chin titled slightly to one side. Her olive skin shone in the light and her dark eyes sparkled with some emotion James couldn't place. He liked this young woman, he could tell that much already. She had a certain spark to her, evident in her movements as well as actions. She was vibrant and lively, something James himself had never really been. He admired that.

He made his way over to her, his eyes resting on the painting in front of them. It was a portrait of a respectable family, dressed in jewels and finery, a young couple who shone with happiness and love, their hands intertwined, the woman with a small child on her lap. The family looked familiar, and it took James a moment to realize that this was Vitalia's family.

"Your parents?" he asked after a moment, turning to look at her. She looked sad.

"Yes, and me, before they died," she said quietly.

Her answer was simple and painful all at once. It explained why she lived with her uncle, something James had been wondering for a while now.

"I'm sorry," he said, the only thing he could think of saying.

She looked up at him and smiled slightly, a small, sad smile. "You don't need to be. I don't remember them much. They died when I was four." Her eyes trailed over the faces of the portrait once more, then she turned and moved on to the next. "I made this copy of a portrait my uncle had, he swapped them out soon after I was finished."

Her sad atmosphere disappeared quickly as they continued down the line of pictures. Vitalia began to share stories about each of them as they moved on, small tidbits that gave James an insight into her life. There was drawing of a litter of puppies, who James learned that Vitalia and Adela had tried to raise together, eventually becoming too over whelmed to deal with all eight of them. Another picture was of her uncle in court, dressed nicely, but with an expression on his face of utter boredom. Vitalia laughed at this and told James she had seen her uncle make that face on more than one occasion while he was acting the noble gentleman.

Through these stories and pictures, the pair began to feel comfortable in each others company, laughing at the ridiculous tales some of the drawings were part of. James felt as if he were getting to know the enchanting young woman before him, bit by bit, and he almost felt bad that he had no insights to give into his own life that were as interesting as hers. The pair made their way around the room, ending finally at a set of double glass-paned doors that lead to what looked like a stone balcony.

"Would you like to go out?" Vitalia asked politely as James tried to make out shapes through the glass. It was dark outside now, the moon hanging high in the black sky.

"If you don't mind," he said. It occurred to him that he knew where he was, but had no recollection of what exactly Palma de Mallorca looked like. It unnerved him slightly.

Vitalia smiled, "Of course not. Let me get a match though, otherwise we will trip over ourselves in the dark."

James watched as she went to the desk and drew out a long box of matches. He couldn't help but think he wouldn't mind tripping about in the dark with her, but he kept his thoughts to himself. She returned to him and raised an eyebrow expectantly, smiling. "Go on," she said, nodding to the door.

James reached for the handle and turned, finding it unlocked, and pushed the door open. Vitalia slipped out before him and began lighting lamps that were scattered along the balcony and James followed her.

The first thing that reached him was the salt of the sea and he breathed in deeply, savoring the familiar smell of the water that had been so much a part of him. He had missed it. Vitalia had finished lighting the lamps and shook the match, extinguishing the small flame with a flick of her wrist. She turned and looked at James, who had moved to the edge of the balcony, his palms on the large railing, his eyes closed and a look of complete serenity on his face.

She couldn't help but smile. He looked so peaceful. The man before her was very much a mystery. He listened contently to her anecdotes, smiling and laughing along with her, but he never shared anything about himself. Vitalia wondered if something tragic had befallen him, it would explain his being washed up on shore, or if something else had changed in his life. He smiled and laughed, surely, but there was a very somber air about him at the same time. Vitalia didn't want to pressure him or offend him, but she was curious as well.

She moved softly, her skirts swirling around her ankles, and came to stand beside him. He'd opened his eyes now and was taking in the view. The sea sat to one side, the city to the other. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, watching the waves crash against the beach below their feet.

"It is," he said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. He sighed softly then. "I miss the sea," he said after a moment of contemplation. Vitalia could see in his eyes the longing he felt.

She was inwardly delighted that he had said something so personal, then braved unknown waters by asking "Were you a sailor?"

He glanced at her, smiling slightly. She was sharp, this woman. "I was. In the Navy."

He was still wary about revealing such things about himself—how would he explain to this wonderful family that he had come back from the dead if they somehow how out that he'd been killed in the line of duty? It dawned on him eventually that it was just something he would need to work out, and that he'd rather deal with that than deal with being dead.

"My father was in the Navy as well," she ventured, wondering if such information would help James feel more comfortable. She was eager to learn more about him. "He was a Vice Admiral, I believe. My uncle explained it all to me, more than once in fact, but I have problems keeping all of the rankings straight." She offered a small smile.

He returned it. "He was very high up, then," he said, wondering whether it would be safe to admit he had been an Admiral as well. He decided now was not the time. "I was a Commodore."

Vitalia smiled in an embarrassed manner and he laughed, "It's below the rank of an Admiral."

"Thank you," she said, laughing at herself. "I hope you're not offended?"

He raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Why would I be offended?" he asked with a laugh. It felt good to laugh, he realized. He hadn't laughed much back in Port Royale, or in his past life at all, when he thought about it.

Vitalia shrugged, "You're awfully mysterious, Mr. Norrington—"

"James," he said earnestly.

"—James," she corrected herself with a grin. "How am I to know how you might react to my lack of naval knowledge?"

James shook his head and shrugged. The pair stood in silence then, the wind kissing their hair and faces in the moonlight.

"You were attacked by pirates?" Vitalia asked after a stretch of silence. The story Armand had relayed to her and her aunt spoke of a pirate attack, but she was curious to see if James would tell her anything else.

James didn't respond right away, his eyebrows drew together sharply and Vitalia wondered if she had been pushing her luck.

"Yes," he answered just as Vitalia had opened her mouth to apologize. "My crew and my ship—we were all separated, cut down…" he trailed off quietly. He looked angry, and a fierce light had come into his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Vitalia replied, reaching over and resting her hand on his arm in an attempt to convey her sincerity. She ignored the heat that spread to her face at the contact, she knew it wasn't at all proper for her to be doing so, but she felt deep down like it was the right thing to do.

Again, at the feel of her hand on his arm, James felt a shock run through his body, something he'd never experienced with Elizabeth. He ignored the urge to cover her hand with his, however, and nodded his thanks. She removed her hand, blushing slightly, her eyes downcast.

"My parents were killed by pirates," Vitalia ventured after a moment, her eyes still locked on the ground below.

James glanced at her, surprised she would admit or tell him something so very personal.

"I can't say I know exactly what you feel," she continued, "but I understand it."

She still stood tall, even while admitting something so tragic and so much a part of her life, and James couldn't help but admire her strength. True she had been young when her parents had died, but the loss of a parent was never easy to deal with, even as time went on.

"Thank you," he said turning toward her. Watching the candle light illuminate her eyes, James found himself smiling again.

"_De nada_," Vitalia returned his smile. She watched as James took a sip from his wine glass, which was now empty. "Should we go back inside?"

James thought for a moment, then nodded. "Does this door stay open?" he asked as they moved back inside, Vitalia closing the doors behind them. She shook her head.

"No, but my uncle can give you a key, if you wish," she offered as they made their way back into the parlor, where Armand had joined his wife on the sofa, his arm wrapped possessively around her shoulders.

"I would appreciate that," James said, and Vitalia nodded.

She and James sat down across from her aunt and uncle then, James taking the seat he'd sat in before, Vitalia situating herself in the chair Armand had earlier vacated. Armand told James he would happily give James a key to the balcony, and that if he wished he could take one of the larger guest bedrooms that had a balcony of its own.

"Does it face the sea?" James asked in a hopeful and abashed matter.

Armand smiled. "It does."

James thanked him whole heartedly. Vitalia offered him a genuine smile, which he returned, and the group fell into easy conversation until a butler arrived, announcing dinner. The foursome relocated to a rather informal dinning room, James hungry once again, and continued their friendly chatter. James felt comfortable enough to tell the three Spaniards more about his life, with Vitalia's eager prompting, telling Armand and Adela of his previous naval post. They asked questions, but did not press him for information. James had the feeling they understood his position.

Armand lead him to his new room later that evening, informing him that there were a few shops in town if he wished to buy himself more clothing, firmly telling James that the items he wore now were his to keep.

"Adela is having a dinner party later in the week, and should you wish to attend, you might want to purchase something a bit more elegant."

James winced, "Thank you. I'm afraid I lost whatever gold I had in the wreck, though." He was slightly embarrassed. He had no way of accessing the funds he'd had in Port Royale—if they were informed of his death, he would be arrested for theft.

Armand waved a hand. "We can lend you the money, and before you protest," he said raising a finger at James, "we can find a way for you to repay me."

James smiled. "Thank you."

"And stop thanking me," Armand said with a wry grin. He then gave a slight bow and bid James goodnight, turning around and closing the door behind him as he left.

Once again, James could not believe his good fortune of being taken in by such a wonderful family. Armand was friendly, Adela polite and charming, and Vitalia was something unto herself.

James crossed the large room to the balcony and threw the doors open, stepping once again into the night air. He breathed in deeply, savoring the smell of the sea, and collapsed into a chair near the rail, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. For once in his life, James felt truly, honestly, content.

* * *

Oh James. I love you. 

Please review!!!

-Elle


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry this chapter took a while to get up, it's been rather an exciting weekend/week. I spent my long weekend studying for my Bio test (which was on Tuesday and went _unexpectedly_ well XD), then on Sunday night, my roommates boyfriend flew into town...to break up with her. So she crawled in bed with me Monday morning crying. It was a very sad experience. To top it off, they were doing renovation in the apartment upstairs and cracked a pipe or something, so we had water dripping from the ceiling in the kitchen. Now, we called maintenance but they said they would send someone in the morning since the leaking wasn't very fast or huge...

But water damage is water damage, and we woke up this morning to a portion of our ceiling on the floor.

Now we are walking around with the large cowboy hat's her ex-boyfriend's brother left in their apartment (we're living in it, how awkward is that now...?) to keep bits of sheet-rock and dust from falling on our heads while the ceiling dries.

I think those are valid excuses...Enjoy!

* * *

James awoke early the next morning, the sun pouring over him from the balcony doors that he had left open during the night. He enjoyed the feel of the feather mattress beneath his body, a comfort he was not used to, and the smooth sheets against his naked skin. He wondered, as he sat up and stretched his neck, how he would ever be able to repay Armand, let along do enough for him to warrant receiving any gold for new clothes from him. He didn't dwell on such things though, and instead rose from his bed, slid into his under-things and breeches, then went and sat out on the balcony, letting the sun wash over him.

He listened for some time to the waves crash against the shore below, then stood and made his way over to the rail of the balcony. He had not been able to truly see the view his balcony afforded the night before. The beach was spread out before him, almost as if it had lain itself at his feet. The sand was white, shimmering in the morning light, and sea itself was crystal blue with the sun making the waves appear as rolling masses of diamonds, crashing against the white sands. James smiled despite himself.

There was a large port not to far from the house, which appeared to lead into the town itself, where a number of vessels were docked. James picked out a few merchant ships, as well as three ships that belonged to the Spanish Navy. The navy ships looked much like those James had been on and commanded, save for their coloring and, of course, the colors they flew.

He made the decision to visit the main part of town then and, running a hand through his thick hair, made his way back into his room. There was a bath chamber through a small doorway on his right, but he passed it. He dressed himself once more in the shirt and vest he had been given the day before and, quickly sliding his legs into his boots, he went to find Armand. He had a feeling the man would be up now, and he wanted to talk to him before heading into the city.

He doubted that he would ever be able to repay Armand for his kindness, but he could not deny that he needed another set of clothes at least. The offer of Adela's dinner party flitted across his mind as well, but he thought it would be best to wait on that. He was grateful for the kindness of this family, but he had not yet decided if he wanted to try and return to Port Royale and pick up his old life.

A life he had now come to despise in more than one manner.

He rolled the sleeves of his chemise up to his elbows as he made his way back down the hallway, passing the bedroom Vitalia had disappeared into the night before. He smiled slightly as he thought about her, then headed down the marble steps that lead him to the large, elaborate entry way. His mind wandered as he tried to remember the way to Armand's study, or the small informal parlor he figured the man would be in.

He knew that he could attempt to return to Port Royale if he so desired; he knew Armand would help him find passage and send him off with wishes of luck and prosperity. But the more James thought about it, the more he realized he didn't want to return to the Caribbean. He had had a life there, surely, but it was a life he had destroyed for himself once he'd been blinded by the greed and feel of his station, and his bitter relationship with Jack Sparrow and his own heart.

Elizabeth was in Port Royale as well—at least he assumed she was. She had been so disgusted with him the last time they had spoken—not that he blamed her in the slightest—but he didn't know if his sacrifice had made up for his errors. What if he returned and she turned him away? Another part of him worried that she may be dead; James still did not know the outcome of the battle with Davey Jones and Cutler Beckett. What if he returned and found the city destroyed, Will and Elizabeth dead? There were too many things James just did not know.

And he realized, as he turned a corner to find himself in a large ballroom, which he quickly exited and backtracked to the original hallway, he had been given another chance. Not just another chance to prove himself or right his wrongs, but another chance at _life_. He knew few who could boast such a thing—aside from Jack Sparrow, which irked him ever so slightly.

He had been given a new chance, thrust back into the world in a place that was as much a mystery to him as his rebirth, surrounded by kind and fascinating people who, though he had only known them a short day, he was becoming very fond of. He couldn't help but feel that they enjoyed his company as much as he did theirs.

James found his was into the parlor a few minutes after his encounter with the ballroom and was relieved to find Armand seated in one of the chairs, his booted feet propped up on the table. He had a stack of papers spread out beside him and was slowly going through them, holding them up so he could read them, then setting them down in a pile that was on the floor. He held an apple in one hand and a tray of breakfast food sat before him on the table. James raised a fist and knocked on the open door.

Armand turned his head over the back of the couch and, seeing James, smiled and motioned for him to come in with the apple in his hand. James made his way over to Armand and sat down in the opposite chair. The Spaniard swallowed the bite of apple he'd been chewing and grinned.

"Help yourself," he said, motioning with his apple to the tray of food.

"Thank you," James said, and grabbed himself an apple as well, biting into it and savoring the sour taste that cascaded over his tongue.

"Did you sleep well?" Armand asked as he settled himself back into the chair, refraining from picking up another document.

James nodded, "Very well. The view from that room is beautiful."

Armand smiled, "I'm glad you like it." He glanced over his shoulder at a large clock, which read half-past eight, then turned back to James. "Would you be opposed to a walk, James?"

James shook his head, "Not at all." He stood and grabbed himself two pieces of toast, following Armand.

"Wonderful," Armand said as he grinned broadly. "I have a job offer for you," he said as they left the parlor and made their way towards the front of the house.

James raised an eyebrow. "A job offer?" He'd only been here—awake—a day.

Armand nodded, "Indeed, and I do hope you will take it."

"What is it?" James asked as he followed Armand out the front of the house into the bright sunlight.

It was warm as the pair crossed through the front gardens and reached the main road. An old man on a wooden cart passed them and gave Armand a hearty wave, saying something that sounded like a cheerful greeting in Spanish. Armand responded in kind and James watched the exchange with a small smile.

"He's a farmer who lives farther up the hill," Armand told James as they walked down the sloping hill in the wake of the cart. "He likes to tell me I look like my father every time he sees me."

James laughed, "Do you?"

Armand thought for a moment then said, "_Mi Dio_, I hope not. I can only really remember him old. And I hardly think I look that old." He thought for a moment then added, "He was governor here, before me."

James assured him he didn't look old (he placed Armand's age around his own, and he certainly didn't want to think himself old), then asked again what Armand's offered job was. He was not very surprised to find that Armand was the governor of the city. He seemed like an important man—Vitalia's words the night before had hinted that they were nobles—and a smart one as well.

"We have recently accepted a new round of cadet sailors," Armand said, turning a corner past a large church as they reached the bottom of the hill. James could tell now they were headed toward the docks he had seen earlier from his room. "And they could use a bit more experience before we send them off into the ocean."

James grinned slightly, "Not a fan of just sending them out unawares?"

Armand smiled slightly, but it was not a true smile. "There have been too many incidents where untrained sailors have been taken or killed in the recent years."

This, James knew, was true. He had seen the carnage that too often befell young and inexperienced sailors on the open seas with his own eyes. "What do you want me to do?" he asked as they passed an array of shops—James took note of one selling men's clothing—and made their way to the docks, where the ships James had admired earlier stood.

Armand stopped and turned to James before they stepped onto the dock, his hands on his hips and a wry grin on his face, "Tell me, Mr. Norrington, how are you with a sword?"

---

Vitalia woke soon after Armand and James had departed, and she lay in her bed starring out her window for quite some time, watching the sunrise higher into the sky.

She had gone to sleep thinking about James Norrington, the intriguing man she had found face down on the beach. He was a nice man, he was kind, and from what Vitalia could tell, he was passionate. The way he had stared out at the sea the night before, Vitalia could feel the longing that coursed through his body. She knew of the feeling, it was one she felt when she spent too long away from her charcoal or paintbrushes and canvases.

He was indeed an interesting man. Vitalia was sure he had lead an exciting life as the Commodore in Port Royale; he seemed like a man who was drawn to adventure. She wondered what stories he wasn't—or maybe wouldn't? —share with her. She felt a longing, almost the same as he felt for the sea or she felt for her paint, to know, and it made her wonder what on earth possessed her so.

A soft knock sounded at her door, the knock of her aunt.

"Yes?" she called out in Spanish and her aunt entered, Adela still in her dressing gown and slippers.

"Your uncle and our new friend have disappeared," Adela said with a smile as she sat herself down on her niece's bed.

"Oh?" Vitalia raised an eyebrow, "Where to?"

"The port," Adela replied, "Armand wants his help with the new recruits."

Vitalia put the two together quickly and understood; Armand had been trying to stop pirates preying on their new sailors and had been talking the day before about giving them hands-on training in various ways of combat and the like. It was no surprise that James, a former commodore and someone who had survived pirate attacks, would be the one he picked to assist him.

"How long will they be gone?" Vitalia asked as she fiddled with the end of her long braid.

Adela shrugged, "Armand left me a note, most of the day I assume. He means to take James to town and get him another set of clothing, I think, after they finish. He believes that James won't refuse if he has done work," she said with a grin. Vitalia knew her aunt found it very amusing how James was so embarrassed about receiving help and charity.

"Well what should we do, then?" Vitalia asked, slightly disappointed that she would not be able to see James till late in the evening, where he would surely be tired and want to sleep.

"I was thinking we'd meet them in town, later," Adela said, "I can send a message with Miguel to have them meet us at the plaza and help them shop—you know your uncle is challenged in that area of life, not to mention _we_ need to outfit ourselves to outshine the rest of Palma at my dinner."

Vitalia raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Won't they want to bathe…?" She could only imagine how sweaty and tired the pair would be after working out in the sun all day.

Adela waved a hand impatiently, "They can shower at the barracks if they feel the need to. Lord knows they have enough uniforms there to outfit half the city, so they can change there too."

Vitalia laughed aloud and her aunt smiled at her. "Well?" Adela asked, "What do you think? You and I can finish deciding who sits next to who and what we will have for dessert next week."

"That sounds wonderful," Vitalia responded, smiling at her aunt. She couldn't deny, as she watched Adela leave and rose from her bed, pulling the bell cord beside her bed for water for her bath, that she was excited that she would not have to wait all day to see James.

---

"Well? Do you think you will sleep well tonight?" came Armand's voice from around the stone corner where James knew he was submerged in a bath just as he was.

He could only groan in return.

Armand laughed, "Come now, surely you are used to work like that?"

"Not after days of rest," James admitted. He could feel that the muscles in his neck were more tense and knotted than they been when he returned from the little wooden rowboat and back to the land of the living. He was slightly embarrassed at the time it took him to loosen up when they first arrived and Armand had thrust a sword at him.

Armand was a good opponent, not that James was in anyway surprised; most nobles were decent with a sword, and living in a port city such as Palma de Mallorca James was sure he had been given extra lessons. But Armand had a natural talent for the blade as it was, and James had asked him if he had somehow studied swashbuckling.

"Yes, in fact. It helps in teaching the young ones what to expect," was the response he got. "My brother had a knack for the style," he added, and James noticed his eyes cloud over sadly.

"They were killed, Vitalia's parents, your brother?" James asked as he danced around Armand, easily blocking a half-hearted thrust and counterattack in the same motion, catching Armand's guard with his blade.

Armand looked at him with empty eyes, then nodded. "Vitalia told you, last night?"

James nodded, "Their picture."

Armand nodded, then shook off James' blade, moving quickly to his right and lunging at him again.

They didn't speak again until the trainees had arrived and James was worried that he had some how upset his new friend, but the smile that Armand gave him, as well as the handshake after they had finished their bout told him otherwise.

Armand spoke to the young men who'd assembled on the deck of the ship, _La Bella_, explaining to them what he had in mind for them that day, as well as who the disgruntled looking Englishman beside him was. James was somewhat uncomfortable, not being able to understand what was being said around him, but he trusted Armand.

At least, he thought he did, until the Spaniard had spun around and assaulted him with his sword. James, being the instinctual man in battle that he was, immediately grabbed his own and used his leg to trip Armand, who had been running towards him. He had certainly refrained from using such tactics earlier, but Armand had caught him by surprise.

It took James a moment to realize that, from Armand's laughter and congratulatory pat on the back as he rose, that was exactly the type of reaction he'd been expecting. The young boys were laughing at their governor, who turned and spoke to them once more. The group dispersed into pairs then, and so began the rest of James' day. They had went through drills upon drills, James telling Armand then Armand relaying, in Spanish, James' words to his new recruits. All in all, it was very tiring.

James was grateful for the use of the barracks baths before he and Armand were to go and meet Adela and Vitalia. James allowed himself a small smile. He couldn't deny that he was excited to see Armand's beautiful niece. She was excellent company, both funny and intelligent. Again, James was reminded of Elizabeth, but only slightly. Vitalia seemed a bit more vibrant than the young Miss Swann had been.

"Are you ready, James?" Armand's voice broke his train of thought. James realized he was still in the metal basin and coughed.

"Almost," he said and quickly dunked his head under the lukewarm water, then hopped out of the tub, drying and dressing himself faster than he'd ever done before. He dressed in the offered Navy uniform, knowing Armand was doing the same. James had protested at first, but Armand had fixed him with a stern look.

"James, you have to be more than aware that I am prepared to offer you a position here, in our navy, should you choose to accept it. You've more than earned it today, I have never seen someone work so hard on their first day."

James had the decency to blush slightly and nodded, taking the offered garments and going to take his bath. Armand had watched him go with a grin.

"Ready now," James said as he rounded the corner into the main living space where Armand stood, chatting with one of the young men they had worked with this morning.

"Wonderful," Armand said in English. He clasped the young man on the arm and bid him farewell. The young man smiled at James as well as they passed.

"_Adios_," he said and saluted the pair as they crossed the threshold of the door and went into the streets.

"You know," James said after a moment of silence as he followed Armand through the city, "I think I should learn some Spanish."

"Is it tiring, going from me to them?" Armand asked, genuinely interested.

"Not especially," James said, then grinned, "It's just that after this morning, I don't know if I can trust you."

Armand laughed heartily as they entered the plaza where they were to meet Adela and Vitalia. "A wise choice," he said, "I was planning on trying to ambush you again tomorrow morning, but I see that you will now be prepared for such things."

James wanted to groan again, but refrained as Adela and Vitalia rounded the corner. He couldn't help his intake of breath, for both women looked positively radiant despite their simple dress.

Armand noticed this and, glancing sidelong at his companion, smiled.

* * *

Ok, I'm really excited to work on the next chapter now. I enjoyed this one too. I like making James feel awkward and disgruntled, and Armand is only too happy to do so. Anyways, look forward to shopping and more open flirtation between our hero and heroine in the coming chapter, which I assume will be up sometime by Friday, since I don't do anything at work...ever..

Please review!!!!

-Elle


	7. Chapter 7

So this was up quicker than expected, but I was excited about writing it so it happened fast. Enjoy!

* * *

"Ah, _mi Reina_," Armand said dramatically as he and James drew level with his wife an niece, "you look wonderful!" He took her hand and kissed it, then drew her into his arms. Adela laughed and kissed his cheek, whispering something in his ear that caused him to smile widely.

James looked at Vitalia, who was watching her aunt and uncle with a small smile on her face. She was dressed in a simple smock of royal blue that had gold details along the bust and down her torso, reaching a point where her skirts began. The skirts of her simple gown, also in the same royal blue, parted to reveal a golden-yellow petticoat with a light brocade design. She had pinned and piled her hair atop her head so it framed her face and she wore a golden earring in each ear; James thought they resembled flowers.

Vitalia turned her face to James and, blushing as she caught him looking at her, curtsied slightly. "And how was your day, James?" she asked, and James could swear her smile was meant to be devious.

"Tiring," he answered as he bowed in response to her curtsy, "but enjoyable."

Vitalia smiled, "I'm glad to hear my uncle didn't work you to death, I admit I would miss your company." She looked bashful, but continued to smile.

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied, returning her smile. He thought to himself that if Armand had worked him to death, he could always jump ship again and swim back—though he wasn't entirely sure if he would end up back on Mallorca. "And how was your day?"

Vitalia made a face. "Decidedly less exciting, I'm sure. I helped Adela with her dinner plans."

"Which you enjoyed, even though you want to deny it," Adela said to her as she and Armand came to stand beside her, arm in arm. "She complains she doesn't like social engagements," Adela said with a conspiratorial smile to James, "but really she likes getting dressed up and dancing as much as any young woman."

Vitalia rolled her eyes, but did not deny what her aunt has said. James laughed. "I suppose it does get dull every now and then," he said through a grin.

"You've no idea," Armand muttered and then looked around the plaza. The sun was still relatively high in the sky and the plaza was still crowded with people, shopping or buying food at the small bakeries and shops that lined the way. "Should we do our shopping, then return home for a hearty dinner that we will all enjoy?" Armand appeared to be looking forward to the meal a great deal.

James recalled that they ate dinner very late in the evening, and he vaguely wondered how long their shopping was going to take. Vitalia noticed his face and laughed, reaching over and patting his arm sympathetically.

"It shouldn't take till dinner," she said, "my uncle just likes to exaggerate."

"I do not," Armand declared, raising an eyebrow, "I just have experience shopping with the two of you."

Adela laughed and twined her arm with her husbands and steered him towards the large shop James and taken note of earlier that morning. He looked at Vitalia, who was shaking her head and smiling, then offered her his arm.

She looked uncertainly from his offered arm to him for a moment, then smiled and gently took it, resting her palm atop his hand.

"Thank you," she said, her words slightly accented.

"My pleasure," James said as they followed after Armand and Adela. "Now, would you really have preferred being attacked by your uncle with a sword than planning a dinner party?"

"Oh, surely," Vitalia answered with a laugh, "It would have broken the monotony nicely." She thought a moment as James nodded his agreement, and then added, "I actually have some training, with a sword. My uncle taught me for a number of years before he decided that I could beat him and that was far enough—not to mention aunt Adela thought that the calluses on my hands were very unbecoming."

James raised an eyebrow, "You must have been very good then, for your uncle is rather formidable."

Vitalia shrugged slightly as she waited for Adela and Armand to enter the shop, detaching her arm from James' as they followed inside. "It was a few years ago that I stopped taking lessons from him, but I still feel as if I could put up a good fight," she said with a smile.

"Maybe you should come help us with the new sailors, then," James replied, only half-joking. It would be helpful to have another hand on deck when dealing with the young boys, many of whom had no training at all.

Armand had over heard this and he spun around quickly, "You know, I hadn't even thought of that…but I don't know if I want you," he looked pointedly at Vitalia, "prancing around in breeches and stabbing our young men, many of whom nurse a very soft spot for you. They would be afraid of ruining your lovely visage."

Vitalia looked both embarrassed and disgruntled, but said nothing. Adela had left the trio and was off in the corner speaking with a small, plump woman, who James assumed was the shop's owner, in rapid Spanish, gesturing to James with her hands.

"What's she saying?" James asked, edging towards Vitalia, his voice quiet.

Vitalia smiled at him, "I forget that you don't understand us," she said, then listened to her aunt, and then laughed.

James looked alarmed.

"No, no it's not bad," she assured him, still smiling, "but my aunt just referred to you as a 'strapping young man', I believe would be the translation. She often gets carried away with such things."

"I'll say," Armand said with a sigh. "The last time she brought me here we were here for four hours. I have never been so assaulted in my life as I was that day by that woman and her pins."

James looked alarmed once more but didn't have a chance to express his fear as Adela lead the woman over to him.

---

"What do you think of this?" Vitalia asked as she help up a dark brown bolt of fabric, eyeing it critically as she passed it to James.

The pair had been ordered to find fabrics James liked in order to fashion him other sets of breeches, shirts, vests, and anything else Adela thought he might need. James was relieved he did not have to organize his wardrobe—the only things he'd ever worn in Port Royale were his navy and dress uniforms, which required very little thought—but he was slightly nervous at the expense of it all. He knew that Adela was in the next room looking over patterns of fancier outfits for her dinner, that she _insisted_ James attend.

"The Governors Ball is in a few weeks as well," she had told him when he attempted to protest, "and there is no way we could allow you to skip out on _that_."

"Indeed," Armand said, looking thoroughly amused as his wife ordered James about, "I would be _terribly_ offended."

James had kept his uncertainties to himself from then on and simply went along with whatever Adela thrust at him. Armand had assured him that his work that morning had definitely merited at least half of what his new clothing would cost him, and that tomorrow would surely take care of the rest. James didn't know if he should be relived or nervous.

He also realized that he had not spoken acceptance or refusal to Armand's offered position. Armand seemed to be able to read him well though in assuming James would accept, which he did indeed plan on doing. He had come to a conclusion about his position as they were going through patterns of dress and coats and vests; the trio he was surrounded by was made up of wonderful people and he didn't want to waste his second chance at a happy life by going back to a city he wasn't sure if he wanted to return to.

James reached over and felt the fabric between two fingers. It was soft, almost canvas, but stretched when he pulled on it. "I like it," he answered truthfully. "For breeches?"

Vitalia nodded then glanced at James, and he had the feeling she was sizing him up and dressing him with the fabric. "Maybe a vest or coat as well, so you match and all," she said with a smile.

"God forbid I go through life unfashionably," James agreed in mock-seriousness.

"My aunt would love to hear my uncle say that," Vitalia told him with a smile as she motioned for the apprentice following them to take the bolt of fabric, "she picks out all of his clothing."

James laughed, but could see the situation very clearly. While Armand himself demanded respect and attention, it was clear his wife was also one who was not to be reckoned with.

"Oh, this is lovely," Vitalia whispered as they came to a line of silks. She had drawn out a bolt of pale orange, reminding James of the tangerines he had eaten at lunch with the cadets. He couldn't quite picture himself in the color, but he had a feeling that Vitalia had it in mind for herself more than him. Her eyes misted over slightly as she ran her hands down the fabric, smiling.

"Vitalia, James is too pale for that!" Adela called from the other room, causing the girl to jump.

"I know that!" she retorted, embarrassed that she had let her mind wander.

James smiled slightly as she put the fabric back. "It would have been too pale for me, I would've looked some type of citrus…it would have been beautiful on you, though," he said softly as she pulled out a dark blue and held it up to him, his eyes sincere.

Vitalia blushed and smiled softly.

James had been able to tell she was imagining a dress for herself out of the pale peach silk, something that both surprised and embarrassed her. Could he read her that well?

"Thank you," she said, then handed the blue silk to the apprentice, who hurried off with it and placed it atop the other bolts of fabric the pair had selected.

The color remained for some time on Vitalia's dark cheeks and she could feel the heat on her face as they continued to pick out colors and different textures, moving methodically around the room. She couldn't deny that she was attracted to the man, despite the fact that she had only known him a few short days, if even that. And she couldn't help thinking, as she felt his eyes move with her, following her down the rows of color, that he felt something of the same for her.

She was scanning the last row of fabrics when a rich green caught her eye. She reached for it and was surprised when James' hand closed over her own as he made an attempt to get the bolt himself. She didn't move for what seemed like an eternity, and then slowly turned her face up to look at him.

His eyes were still fixed on his hand, which still covered her own, a slight look of surprise on his handsome features. He turned his head after a moment and his eyes met hers, and a small, almost bashful smile spread across his face. He withdrew his hand, slowly, reluctant to relinquish the contact.

"Sorry," he said, "I thought I would help by grabbing it before you had a chance too. I had a feeling you would reach for it."

Vitalia returned his smile and shook her head, "Don't worry about it. And," she grinned wider, "you were right. It seems you may have some potential as it is, James."

"Potential?" James asked, confused. Potential for _what_ exactly, he wondered.

"Dressing your self," Vitalia replied as she withdrew the fabric. In her mind, however, a thousand other possibilities occurred to her.

"James?" Adela's voice broke the pairs connection, "Are you two done?" She peered around the stacks of cloth at them, raising an eyebrow at the some-what tense atmosphere.

"Yes, _tía_," Vitalia answered, handing the green cloth off.

"Oh, I like that…" Adela said as the apprentice passed her with the fabric, "That would make a very elegant jacket…" she trailed off, then remembered why she had come into the room, "Come here now, James. You need to try a few of these pieces on."

James smiled as he heard Armand groan in the next room and headed over to Adela and followed her into the small antechamber, where she'd had the shop keeper lay out a variety of different ensembles.

"All of them?" he asked somewhat warily as Vitalia joined them, eyeing the collection with a small grin.

Adela looked at him with a surprised look, "Of course, all of them."

Armand gave James an understanding look and nodded. James knew he had no choice, nor could he refuse out of politeness or his gratitude towards her.

"All of them, then," he said and was ushered by Adela into the curtained room with the first set of clothes.

---

James had tried on every outfit Adela had thrust upon him without complaint, even stepping out of the room to be critiqued by her and Vitalia while Armand sat in a chair off to the side with a look of sympathy. All of the pieces he tried on were elegant suits, he knew for Adela's dinner and the Governor's Ball. She seemed to be looking for something very specific, but he couldn't tell what. He thought he looked rather fetching in most of the outfits she had chosen for him.

"You need two," she said as she circled him, eyeing the deep blue ensemble he currently had on. It reminded him vaguely of his Royal Navy uniform, both in color and style. Gold thread lined the edge of the jacket and vest, ending in a complex pattern of waves at the hem of the long, coat. He wore white breeches with it, and a white chemise under the vest.

"I like this one," he told her as she finished her circle.

"Since when do you think your opinion counts, here?" Armand called out from his corner chair. Vitalia coughed to half-heartedly disguise her laugh. Adela ignored the both of them.

"Well I like it as well," she said, smiling at him. "Now you just need one more, that will do for the dinner next week."

James was relieved. He had two more ensembles to try on now, and quickly hurried back into the dressing room. The two remaining outfits were very different from one another and he opted for the simpler of the two first.

He pulled the tan breeches over his legs and changed into the dark blue chemise, tucking it into the waistband of the breeches before fastening them. The vest Adela had picked out for him was a vibrant emerald green that reminded him of the cloth he and Vitalia had both reached for. His mind wandered as he slid his arms into the jacket, a mix of both the green and blue fabrics he already had on, straightening the cuffs out of habit.

He had seen Vitalia's hand reach for the fabric out of the corner of his eye, but hadn't stopped his own hands progress toward it. It had taken him a moment to register the contact despite this, the heat from their hands seeming to spread down to his toes. He liked the feeling, he realized as he surveyed himself in the glass before turning to go out and show the trio of Spaniards.

Adela took one look at him then waved her hand in a manner that told him to turn right back around and change. He didn't think he looked all that bad, but he trusted the woman more than his own judgment and made no protest.

The final suit Adela had chosen for him made him raise his eyebrows. The breeches were much the same shade he had on, and the chemise crème in color. The jacket was a rich, brown, but it was the silk vest that surprised him. He was sure it was the same pale peach that Adela had told him was too pale for him, the same peach that Vitalia had imagined herself in earlier. He knew better than to go ask why Adela had chosen the vest, but he couldn't help but wonder.

He stepped out once he'd slid the jacket on over the vest, glancing at himself in the mirror before he left the dressing room. He had to admit, after all the combinations that Adela had forced onto him, he liked this one the best. It brought something out in him, though he couldn't put him finger on what exactly it was.

He had a feeling Adela saw it too, for as soon as he stepped out she smiled widely. "Perfect," she said.

He glanced over at Armand and Vitalia and noticed the rather perplexed look on Vitalia's face; she had noticed the vests' color as well.

"I think that's all of them, James," Adela said, her eyes taking in the outfit before returning to his face, "You can change back into your clothes now. We'll purchase the things with your gold," she told him, expecting the protest, though James only smiled and nodded, "and then be off."

"For dinner!" Armand said, sounding only too pleased that they would be leaving soon.

"Very well," James said, and then disappeared back into the dressing room.

Vitalia watched her aunt as she turned and went back into the main portion of the shop to pay for the two suits and sets of clothes that she decided James needed. Many of the items would be made from the fabrics she and James had picked out earlier, but there were a few things like socks and plain breeches and chemises, as well as underclothes that could be brought home with them as they left.

She was as confused as James had been by the appearance of the peach fabric that Adela had quickly dismissed earlier. Vitalia had not even been considering the fabric for James, but had instead been imagining herself in it. It was the color she had been searching for, perfect for the dress she wanted made for the Governor's Ball. She could only wonder what her aunt was playing at.

James had exited the small dressing room and drew level with her, watching as Adela had the purchases boxed, promising a manservant to pick them up within the hour.

"Come along, now," Armand said, smiling, "dinner awaits!"

"Not for another hour, at least," Adela told her husband, but she smiled at him.

Armand shrugged and opened the door of the shop, bidding the shopkeeper farewell and letting Adela and Vitalia pass through the door he held. He smiled at James as he exited as well. "Fun, wasn't that?" he asked with a grin.

James laughed and shrugged, "It wasn't as tiring as your earlier idea of fun," he said and Armand laughed.

"You are a funny one, James," he said, wagging a finger at him as he let the door close and went to join his wife, taking her arm in his. Vitalia turned and looked at James and her aunt and uncle started the walk back to their home, Armand greeting people as he went. It was obvious that he was a very popular governor and well liked by all.

"So?" Vitalia asked as James drew level with her, "Do you think you'll ever be convinced to go shopping with my aunt ever again?"

"She does make it easy by making all my choices for me," he said and smiled. Almost instinctively it seemed, he offered his arm to Vitalia.

She smiled at him, a small, almost secret smile, and slid her arm through his, curling her fingers slightly over his own. His grin widened, and the pair continued on their way, following Armand and Adela, falling into easy and comfortable conversation.

Adela and Armand were only too aware of the pair behind them and Adela couldn't help but smile. "It's charming, don't you think?" she asked quietly in Spanish.

"What is?" Armand asked as he returned a wave to an older man down the road.

"Don't pretend you don't know what is developing behind us, my dear husband," Adela told him with raised eyebrows in mock surprise.

Armand glanced at her and smiled, "I am more than aware." He turned his head back quickly and, seeing his niece and James arm in arm and laughing together, widened his smile. "I think it's rather wonderful," he said, turning back to his wife.

"It almost reminds me of when we were young and courting," Adela said.

"What do you mean 'when we were young'?" Armand asked indignantly. "That's the second time today someone has implied that I am old."

Adela patted her husbands hand sympathetically, "Don't worry, you don't look it."

Armand only grumbled in reply.

* * *

There may still very well be an update tomorrow, depending on what I do at work tomorrow, but we'll see. 

Please review with comments or any suggestions or what not. Reviews really do help with the motivation, and it makes me happy to know people are interested in the story!!!

-Elle

**Edit: I apologize for the little spelling errors that were in here... I finished this up quickly then went to watch The Starter Wife, only to find that my beloved Twins were on playing the Braves. It was the first time this season I actually saw my boys play! I can't wait to be home in MN and go to the Dome...**

**Anyways, their being on TV in Boston was kind of like Christmas, so the proofreading was originally half-hearted.**

**Now, PLEASE review! I'd love to break 50 reviews... :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry this took so long!!! I have been really busy with my Bio class (muahaha, took the lab final this morning, final exam Thursday, THEN HOME!!!). I will admit that I did write two Tsubasa Chronicle One Shots over the week (read them please, if you like Tsubasa-- and if you don't know what that is, get on that one, too), but just didn't have the motivation to work on this one too.

But now, here is chapter 8, I apologize for the lateness, as well as the shortness. But now there is competition involved and Adela's dinner is a chapter away!

Enjoy!!!

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The next few days progressed for James in much the same way as his first day of work—save for the shopping, which James was very grateful for. James would wake up, dress, join Armand down in the parlor for breakfast, and then the pair would leave down to the docks, where they would remain till early in the evening. Armand continued to accompany James down to the docks, aiding him with communication and drills, as well as providing companionship while James was getting used to his new life. He did warn James, however, that he would soon need to return to his work in the city hall and resume his duties as Governor.

Soon after this announcement, that day came.

James woke early and dressed himself in the uniform he had received his first day on the job. Adela's dinner was the next night and it was James' last day of drills before his two days off for the weekend. He tied hid hair back in one of the plain black ribbons Adela had purchased for him, knotting it tightly so it wouldn't free itself during his day of training and teaching. Grabbing the uniform coat off the hanger he'd hung it on the night before, James shrugged it on, smoothing it out and fastening the buttons as he made his way downstairs to the parlor where he found Armand. He jumped slightly as he realized Armand was not alone in the room.

A young man sat across from Armand, appearing some where around the same as Vitalia. He sat politely with the Governor, who was speaking to him in directed tones, nodding as Armand moved his hands around for emphasis. He was dressed in the same uniform as James, and it looked as though it had been made for him. He wore the colors with pride and moved easily with them; James still felt slightly uncomfortable that the colors were not Britain's.

The young man's dark eyes rose as James entered the room slowly, no longer sure if he should be in the room if Armand was dealing with business. The young man stood then and, to James' surprise, raised a hand to his temple in a salute. This action caused Armand to turn and look at James, and he smiled.

"James, this is Basilio Narvarra," he said as James moved to stand between to the two other men, looking somewhat uncertain, "He will be assisting you starting today."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Norrington," Basilio said in accented English and smiled easily.

"You as well," James replied, smiling slightly, the turned back to Armand. "You're not working with us anymore?"

Armand nodded, "Trust me when I tell you I'd rather be stabbed at physically rather than verbally, which is sure to happen today since I haven't been in the office since you woke up…" he muttered and glanced at James, who had opened his mouth to apologize, then quickly smiled and waved a hand at him, "Do not worry about it, James. You see, Basilio? He apologizes for everything."

James closed his mouth and said nothing as Basilio smiled at him. It wasn't a mocking smile, but it wasn't one James would necessarily classify as friendly, either. He decided to ignore it however, and turned his eyes back to Armand.

"Basilio will help you from today on," Armand continued, adopting a businesslike-tone. "He's a lieutenant of three years, here, and my protégé," he added dramatically.

James raised an eyebrow at Armand, "Your protégé?"

Armand nodded, "I claim full responsibility for his swordsmanship. You'll see, later," he added with a grin.

James smiled and shrugged, "Very well, then." He helped himself to a few pieces of fruit then looked to Basilio, who was still standing up. "Shall we?"

The younger man nodded and gave a short bow to Armand, who groaned "Don't you start being formal too! James, already you have rubbed off on him!"

James watched as Basilio grinned, then turned and left the parlor, Basilio following behind him. James wasn't quite sure what to say to this young man who gave off an aura of self-importance as they made their way to the door, but they were stopped by an excited voice.

"Basilio!"

Both men turned around to see Vitalia hurrying down the steps towards them, still dressed in her night-things with an elaborate robe around her shoulders. James watched in slight awe, wondering if this was in any way proper—he thought decidedly _not_—as Vitalia practically leapt into the young man's arms, both of them laughing and conversing in rapid Spanish. He stood awkwardly to the side, watching the pair of young Spaniards.

He couldn't help the feeling of jealousy that coursed through his veins as he watched the interaction between Vitalia and Basilio; Vitalia held his arms in her hands and smiled broadly up at him and she spoke and he smiled back widely, laughing with her.

Vitalia turned her attention to James after a moment and smiled radiantly at him and he felt his anger and jealousy subside slightly; Basilio did not receive such a bright smile…though she _had_ practically leapt into his arms. James pointedly ignored this thought.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly.

"Good morning James," she said, still smiling. "How long will you be gone today?"

James glanced at Basilio who, much to his enjoyment, looked slightly annoyed that Vitalia appeared to be so interested in James. "Till the early evening, like usual, I suppose," he replied.

Her face fell slightly, then immediately brightened. "When you get back, come find me," she said, "and I can go over more Spanish with you for tomorrow night."

James nodded. Every evening, when he wasn't too tired, James had been learning basic aspects of the language and, much to his surprise, discovered he had a knack for it, something he had never expected. He was able to follow most conversations if they were spoken slowly, could answer simple questions, and had a general grasp of words that aided him greatly in his work with the navy trainees.

"It would be a shame if I embarrassed myself," he said with wry grin, then bowed slightly. "I'll see you later tonight then," he said, then turned quickly and headed out the door. He was somewhat pleased with himself that Basilio had not had time to say goodbye to Vitalia in some elaborate manner as the young man hurried to catch up with him.

James glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes as they made their way down to the shipyard in silence. He was around James' own height with a slightly smaller build that made his uniform fit him very loosely. His skin, like most of Palma de Mallorca's inhabitants, was deeply bronzed, no doubt darkened even more from his time spent at sea. He had black hair that he kept back in a small tail that reached his shoulder blades, where it curled in a way that reminded James of Will Turner.

"All-right there, Commodore?" came Basilio's silky voice as he watched James with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm fine," James said quickly, "and there is no need for you to call me commodore, I believe you're ranked higher than I am, Captain."

Basilio shrugged his shoulders, not fighting James on the issue. "Norrington, then?" he asked.

James nodded, "That would be fine." He glanced at the young man again; Basilio looked rather bored. "Have you known her long?" he asked. James didn't feel the need to clarify who he was speaking of, he thought it would be clear enough.

A smile lit Basilio's face at the question. "Vitalia? Since she moved here," he said. His grin turned rather devilish, "She's beautiful, isn't she?" he asked, one eyebrow raised lazily in a look what James would come to associate only with Basilio.

James was slightly surprised at the bluntness, but didn't deny that he'd expected something along the lines of such a statement. "She is," he answered shortly. He was quickly beginning to scrutinize the young man at his side and the interaction he'd had with the young Miss Marinella.

James was very tempted to ask what kind of relationship Basilio had—or thought he had—with Vitalia, but refrained for the simple reason that it was, really, none of his business. He was itching to do so, though, wanting to ask almost more than he'd ever wanted to capture Jack Sparrow and then rub it in his face.

"It's a shame she won't go up to court," Basilio continued in his laid back manner, raising a hand in greeting to a passing soldier as they made their way into the plaza. "She is radiant when she is dressed in court gowns."

James was under the distinct impression that Vitalia looked radiant at all times of the day no matter what she was wearing—the dressing gown earlier was proof of that—but he only asked why Vitalia didn't go to court. The two of them had never discussed such things, and he was slightly curious.

Basilio shrugged, "I think it makes her miss her parents," he said in a rather uncharacteristic moment of insightfulness; James would later learn that Basilio was not the most introspective of people, but every one surprised you now and then. "She goes once a year, for the anniversary of the King and Queen's wedding—they're distant cousins, you know," he said.

James didn't know, but he wasn't in the least bit surprised. Almost all royalty was some what related, and Vitalia certainly appeared to _be_ royalty, especially in James' eyes.

The fact that James thought so highly of the young Spanish woman was becoming clearer to him as he continued down with Basilio, the topic of conversation switching—much to James comfort—from Vitalia to what James had in mind for the cadets that day. Basilio proved to have a few good ideas as well, and helped James formulate a plan of action. He seemed cocky, as did most young men, but proved to have an insight to both training and actual battle. It was hard for James to determine how exactly he felt about the young man.

He didn't dislike him, surely, but his easy remarks about Vitalia bothered him somewhat. Not that James had any right to be bothered about what Basilio said about her—but he was none-the-less.

---

"I see you saw Basilio," Armand remarked dryly as Vitalia entered the parlor and sat down across from her uncle, snatching an apple up from the tray before him. His eyes remained on the documents he had started reading once again after James and Basilio had departed.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, I did," she said between bites of the apple, "what of it?"

Armand glanced at her and opened his mouth, then thought better of it and simply said, "Never mind."

Vitalia gave her uncle a look. "Do you not like him anymore, Uncle?" she asked lightly, her brows still raised.

Armand glanced at her, then back to the paper in front of him. "I never said that," he told her lightly, "It's more a matter of trusting him—with _you_."

Vitalia laughed. "Why would you have issues trusting Basilio with me? He's never been anything but kind and cordial to me, and besides," she added with a smirk, "you trust James with me. We've been _alone_ numerous times and never once have you acted this way about it. I don't think I've ever _once_ been alone with Basilio."

"I'd rather keep it that way, _precisoa_," Armand told her, setting his papers down in his lap, giving his niece his full attention. "I trust James to keep his wits about him while in the presence of a beautiful young woman," he told her, holding up a hand when she began to interject, "and while he is not much older than you or Basilio, he has an impeccable sense of honor."

Vitalia looked rather perplexed. "You're saying Basilio has no honor?" she asked dully.

"Basilio has honor for his country, his family," Armand listed, "but honor can often be forgotten when alone with a young woman who you find desirable, and let us not kid ourselves, Vitalia, he _certainly_ finds you desirable."

"I don't understand why you think such a thing," Vitalia said after a moment, chewing thoughtfully.

"I don't expect you to," Armand said, rising from the couch, his stack of papers in hand, "you've never experienced the mindset of a virile young man."

And with that, her uncle left the parlor, leaving her alone with her apple and a new series of thoughts.

---

Adela found her niece in the same spot a short while later, sketching absentmindedly with a glass of water in hand.

"Did you know that your husband doesn't trust Basilio around me?" Vitalia asked her aunt as she sat down, her eyes never leaving her sketchbook.

Adela raised an eyebrow and smiled. "The young Mr. Navarra? Why should he?" she asked with a laugh.

Vitalia looked up at her aunt, slightly annoyed. "Obviously, you two know something I don't," she said.

"No," Adela assured her, "your uncle and I are overly protective of you, you know that. Even the best gentleman can be influenced to do things that they know they should not by the beauty of a lady."

"That's what uncle said," Vitalia told her, "And I told him that he leaves me alone with James all the time."

Adela thought on this for a moment, then began slowly. "James is different in the sense that he has, to himself, a very strong sense of right and wrong. You can't pretend you don't see it in the way he acts towards you or I—and his embarrassment at our aid in his life."

Vitalia sighed; she agreed with her aunt, as well as her uncle, but she still thought it was wrong of them not to trust Basilio.

"Your dress should be ready today," Adela continued, "And a good thing too. It would be a shame if you had to attend dinner naked tomorrow night."

"Where you would still trust James in a room with me?" Vitalia asked innocently.

Her aunt only smiled, "Oh no," she said. "There is a _fine_ line between what a man can tolerate and what he can't."

* * *

I love Armand. He is so fun to write. I wish I had an older brother like him.

I also like Basilio. He's not bad...but he's not necessarily good. Armand sums him up well. And of course, he makes James feel awkward and defensive of Vitalia, which is always sweet.

Anyways, Adela's dinner will be featured in Chapter 9, which I will make an effort to make a good deal longer.

Please review!!! Let me know you're still there after my tortuous, week long absence!

-Elle


	9. Chapter 9

So, to make up for my long absence, this is much longer than usual. I regret to inform you that Adela's dinner did NOT end up happening here, but that's because a few other things needed to happen. I think it will be just as enjoyable. I also have a definitive plot for this story!!!

On a side note, when I finished working on this to go watch 'The Starter Wife' season finale and 'Burn Notice' premier, I caught the last few minutes of 'Cure of the Black Pearl' on USA. It made me laugh.

Anyways, here you go!!! Don't forget to review!!! I broke 60 with the last chapter, which is an all-time high for me ;;

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To put it lightly, Basilio Navarra gave James Norrington a run for his money, which he thought was saying an awful lot—James rarely found himself bested in the manner or fencing _or_ swashbuckling. His years with the royal navy and his dabble in piracy had served him well. 

Despite this, James had to keep his eyes sharp and his blade steady as he dueled with Basilio. The young man was very, _very_ good.

It was the end of the day and the sun hung low in the darkening sky. All of the men at the yard, James included, had long ago done away with their overcoats and stood in their white chemises with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Some how, Basilio had managed to make the entire look appear dashing while the rest of the men, James as well, simply felt wilted and dirty.

On account of the great desire James' cadets had to see their 'Commander'—as they had taken to calling him—duel, Basilio had happily volunteered for the task. James, feeling the pressure of his subordinates as his own desire to test the young Spaniards strength against his own, readily agreed.

It wasn't a bad decision, he thought as he parried a well-aimed thrust and, catching Basilio's hilt with his own blade and then counter-attacked with a long lunge, but he had been wrong to underestimate the younger man. He was not at all surprised that Armand had wanted to take credit for Basilio's skills; he would've wanted to as well.

Basilio easily spun around, breaking the contact of their swords and bringing his own back around over his head to block James' advancing blade.

James disengaged and knocked Basilio's sword away with a great effort, moving closer and closer to him with every passing action.

Basilio retreated, blocking James as he went. James wasn't worried. While Basilio was good, he didn't seem to pay much attention to his surroundings. Where one stood could make all the difference in the outcome of a fight—this was something James had learned while fighting Jack Sparrow and similar opponents—the battle he and Will had fought in the old mill wheel sprang to mind very clearly.

Basilio was failing to notice that James was slowly, and very effectively, driving him into a corner of the yard.

The sea of cadets parted as the pair advanced towards James' destined corner, ducking and sometimes just barely avoiding the two clashing blades.

Just a few steps more…

Suddenly, Basilio pushed forward with an onslaught of attacks that had James retreating ever so slightly to block them and regain his footing. His eyes narrowed and he pushed forward once more, dancing in and out of reach. Basilio let out a feral growl and jumped forward, sword raised, as he neared the wall. James grinned—this is what he'd been waiting for.

While Basilio was in mid air, James rushed towards him, catching his blade and reversing Basilio's momentum, throwing him back towards the wall, right into the corner. The Spaniard landed in a crouch and slowly stood. The cadets around them cheered and James sheathed his borrowed sword.

It took Basilio a moment to realize what had happened and once he did, he grinned at James, though the smile didn't quite reach his dark eyes. He walked forward then, sheathing his sword as well, and held out his hand, etiquette getting the better of him.

"Well fought, Commander," he said, smiling. James detected an ounce of sarcasm in his words, but firmly shook his hand. He could understand the bitter taste of defeat; it was one he'd had in his mouth many times before.

"You as well," James said as they broke apart, "that last set of attacks was strong; you nearly knocked me off my feet."

"Trust me, that was my intention," was the reply.

James smiled and then dismissed his cadets with his small Spanish vocabulary, telling them he would see them next week—either that or next year, he wasn't sure if he'd gotten the words right. Never the less, the cadets saluted him and dispersed, many of them clapping James on the back for his victory. Soon, only he and Basilio were left in the yard. James glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. Basilio stood facing the sea that was over the wall of the training yard, his arms crossed over his chest and his posture relaxed.

"Do you miss it?" Basilio asked after a moment, looking back at James and jerking his head towards the sea. "Armand says you haven't been out since you washed up."

James smiled slightly. Despite the cocky exterior, Basilio did indeed have the heart of a sailor. "Yes," he answered honestly, then added, "but there are things worth staying on land for as well."

Basilio raised an eyebrow in his trademark look, but said nothing, only turning back to the open water. James knew the hint was not lost on him.

James watched him for a moment. His gaze flickered between the Spaniard and the open water, before the chime of the clock in the plaza reached his ears, announcing it was six in the evening. He'd meant to finish up earlier today, but the duel with Basilio had taken more time than he'd expected.

"I should be going now," James said awkwardly to Basilio's back.

"By all means," Basilio said, glancing at him over his shoulder. "I will see you at Adela's dinner tomorrow evening?"

"You will," James answered. Basilio smiled slightly at him, a smile James was unable to read, and raised a hand in farewell.

"Tomorrow, then," Basilio said and returned his attention to the water.

James nodded at Basilio's back and turned on his heel, picking up his discarded overcoat as he went. He stopped by the armory to return his borrowed steel, thanking the old man who was in charge, before departing for Armand's home.

He passed a cluster of homes on his way there, taking a back route Armand had described to him the day before, and admired the quiet appeal the houses had. All were stonewashed white with elegant looking windows and gardens and, from what James could tell, views of the sea. He wondered if he should consider purchasing such a home—he was well aware he couldn't live at Armand's forever. Though he was quite sure Armand would invite him to.

James paused in front of one such home that had its windows boarded up and a chain on its door; it appeared to be quite vacant. He would have to ask Armand about it later. While the need for his own home wasn't pressing, it was something he'd like to take care of sooner rather than later.

The rest of his walk was peaceful and he enjoyed the silent company nature provided him. When he reached Armand's large home—he compared it to the ones he had recently passed and, while they were by no means shabby, they certainly held nothing to the one now before him—he was surprised to find a small mass of carriages in front of the manse.

Sporting a rather confused expression, James entered the front door—which was wide open—only to have to jump quickly to the side to avoid a pair of men who rushed out. He stared at them as they began to unload things out of one of the carriages, then jumped aside again as they ran back in, not giving the surprised Brit a second glance.

Slightly dazed, James continued into the house through the foyer and looked around what had become a flurry of activity.

Servants were rushing here and there, cleaning and dusting, and a small array of men—two of whom James had to jump away from—were carrying music stands into the ballroom. James narrowly avoided a trio of feather dusters as he followed, the sound of voices as well as music drawing him to the large room he'd discovered by mistake his second day awake.

When he entered, he was met with the sight of Adela and Vitalia giving thorough orders to the men with music stands and the group of musicians that stood behind them. He smiled slightly as he watched one of the younger men blush fiercely as Vitalia instructed him to do something. He bowed and, still blushing, ran past James and out the door. Vitalia's eyes followed the man and, finding James, she grinned broadly.

James felt a twinge in his heart as she smiled at him. He knew he was sweaty and dirty, but he couldn't help himself. Again he observed that she was dressed very simply in a brown dress, but, again, he realized she made the dress look like it was fit for royalty. The pair met halfway and smiled at each other.

"Busy?" James asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Very," Vitalia replied, her eyes following another pair of men carrying what James thought was a cello. She turned her dark eyes back to him, "How was working with Basilio?" she asked.

James was rather put out that she would ask about the young man so quickly, but shrugged it off. "He is very good with a sword," he replied, hoping to avoid further discussion about him.

Vitalia laughed, "So I've heard. I've only seen him duel once, against my uncle, and my uncle beat him quite badly." James relished the thought, even though he too had defeated the same man earlier that day. "You look hot," Vitalia observed, taking in James' disgruntled and stained appearance.

He laughed. "I am," he admitted, "but it was so loud down here I had to see what was going on."

"My aunt and I can handle ourselves, you know," was Vitalia's reply, but she grinned. "Why don't you take a bath before we start tonight?" she suggested.

"Thank you," James said heartily, now looking quite forward to a long soak before he began his 'lessons'.

"Oh, it's more for me than you," she said, her grin turning devilish, "You smell like the sea and sweat."

James smirked. "I happen to like those smells," he responded flippantly.

Vitalia's eyes flashed with something James couldn't read, but she waved him off with a hand. He laughed and departed, shrugging his coat off and, once more, narrowly avoiding a large wooden instrument.

---

Vitalia watched the Englishman depart, enjoying the sight of his sweat soaked shirt as it clung to his back. She couldn't help it, really.

'_I happen to like those smells.'_

He'd informed her with a smirk. Vitalia had been about to tell him that she, too, enjoyed them, but held her tongue. The two scents were common enough, but when combined, they reminded her strongly of James—and, when she thought about it, _only_ James.

Shaking her head to clear the image of his wonderfully outlined back from her mind, Vitalia returned to her position at Adela's side. The knowing smile on her Aunt's face did not escape her.

"And what's so amusing?" she asked lightly in Spanish.

Adela grinned at her. "How is James?" she asked, not replying in any way, shape, or form to Vitalia's question.

"Hot and sweaty," Vitalia replied shortly, "Now what are you smiling about?"

"Nothing that concerns you right now," Adela responded. Vitalia only rolled her eyes. "Did Ernesto pick up our gowns?" Adela asked, nodding her approval to the position the musicians had arranged themselves in.

"Yes, about an hour ago," Vitalia answered, "I told you that when he came back with him."

Adela shrugged her shoulders lightly, a gesture she made fluid and graceful. "It must have slipped my mind," she said in apology.

Vitalia wasn't surprised. When Adela threw parties or dinners, she literally put herself in charge of everything. From the arrangement of flowers to the style the napkins were folded to the clothes of her disgruntled husband, Adela had her say in _everything_. Vitalia knew things went so smoothly because of it.

"Is Basilio coming?" Vitalia suddenly asked, her thoughts of James leading her to her young friend.

Adela glanced at her. "I believe so. Why the sudden interest?"

Vitalia shrugged. Adela grinned.

"Oh? Do you fancy this young man as well?"

"What does 'as well' mean?" Vitalia asked hotly. "And no I don't _fancy_ him, I'm just curious."

Adela gave her a knowing smile. "I believe he is," he told her niece, "and if you can't figure the other part out for yourself, I'm _certainly_ not telling you."

"You're evil," Vitalia told her aunt, who only laughed. She thought about her aunt's words for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh.

"I know he is your friend," Adela spoke just as Vitalia had turned to leave, "but please be careful around Mr. Navarra. You are a very charming young woman and you don't realize the signals that you give off around and to young men."

Vitalia looked at her aunt, who firmly held her gaze, and nodded her head in a bashful response. She took her leave then, passing through the hallways until she came to the small room she had long ago dubbed her 'studio'.

A desk sat to one side of the room, piled high with filled sketchbooks and discarded drafts of paintings. She owned two easels, one of which was lying folded against a wall, the other which held the piece she was currently working on.

Her current project was both a secret and a very guilty pleasure; since she had lost ownership of the sketch she had earlier done of James, she had begun a painting. She thought to give it to his as a gift, on what occasion she wasn't sure, but she knew she couldn't really keep it to herself; it wasn't proper.

Not that painting him in secret was either, but she ignored that fact.

Vitalia quickly lit the array of lamps around the room, using a long match and stool to light the one that hung at the center of the low ceiling. Pulling her hair back and tying it with an old ribbon from her desk, she began to add more to the sketch on the canvas. She hadn't started painting yet, she wasn't sure what exactly she wanted him to be wearing in the portrait, so she continued to work on his face and posture, as well as the details of the background. For the most part, she was happy with the sketch so far, aside from the issue of what he was to be wearing, but she continued to have problems with his face. No matter what she did, she couldn't capture the line of his mouth without making him look harsh.

She was sure he could be a very scary man when angry, with his eyes dark and mouth set in a firm line—she shuddered slightly at the thought—but she didn't want to paint an angry James. She wanted the James she spent time with, a happy and occasionally bashful James.

Vitalia sighed softly to herself as she worked, beginning the folds of drapery in the background, as her aunt and uncle's most recent words to her flashed through her mind.

Both had warned her about Basilio and watching her actions around him, and it bothered her somewhat. The pair had been friends for years and never once had he compromised her trust or made her uncomfortable. She knew Adela and Armand only had her safety and happiness in mind, but sometimes the pair of them worrying about her like they did annoyed her. She wondered, not for the first time, if her parents would have been as protective.

She added to her plans in silence for nearly an hour, finalizing much of the draft, as she waited for James to return downstairs so they could begin their final Spanish lesson before Adela's dinner the next evening. As her mind drifted from her aunt, uncle and Basilio to James, she couldn't help the small smile that appeared on her features.

The memory of the way his shirt had clung to his back made its way the forefront of her mind, and her grinned turned devilish and she pictured him soaking in a bath. At least, she tried as hard as she could—the only thing she'd ever come close to seeing was his back.

It didn't dawn on her as she imagined and continued to sketch, that the extent to which she thought about James was far more than she had ever done about any other man. But it didn't matter; she was perfectly content to simply think of a partially nude James with a devious grin on her face.

---

James found Vitalia once he had bathed and rested his tired body. It had taken him some time to find her, but with help from Adela, James made his way to the small room where Vitalia painted. James had been to the room once before, but hadn't remembered it's exact location. He was dressed in a set of his new, less formal clothing; a pair of brown breeches and a lightweight, plain, dark blue chemise. He thought about wearing a necktie as well, but figured he probably had leverage to be less formal, and left the shirt slightly open at the collar. His favored boots adorned his feet and it crossed his mind that he might look into buying a new pair—especially for dinner tomorrow. He made a note to ask Vitalia about some.

He knocked lightly at the closed door.

"_Si_?" came Vitalia's voice from the other side.

"It's James," he said in his simple Spanish. He heard rustling as he stood at the door, and it flew open as he pressed his ear to it. He stumbled slightly, but caught himself before he fell into Vitalia. She grinned at him, eyebrows raised.

"Eavesdropping?" he asked in English.

"No," James managed with a straight face.

Vitalia just laughed at him. "Whatever you say, James. Where should we practice?" she asked as she discreetly shut the door to her studio behind her. She didn't want James to have any idea about the portrait of him that was in it—in fact, she didn't want anyone to know until it was done. She knew Armand would just make fun of her, Adela would smiling in her infuriatingly knowing manner, and James would be red with embarrassment. Vitalia wanted to wait for the right moment to give it to him.

Well, that—and to finish it.

"What about here?" she asked as the pair moved through the hallways, reaching the double-door entryway to the ballroom. The musicians were still in it, now practicing various songs while Armand and Adela danced around the empty floor. Every now and then Adela would stop and address the musicians, who then adjusted whatever they had been told to, and continued.

"Here is fine," James said.

"_Bueno, pero en__Español, ahora,_" she told him with a grin.

In Spanish, James thought with a sigh. Well, he would try.

The pair entered the ballroom and were acknowledge with a wave from both Armand and Adela, who had resumed their dancing. James managed to carry on a simple conversation with Vitalia as they sat in two chairs against the wall, receiving encouragement from the young woman. He stumbled, as he was bound to do with only a weeks worth of the language under his belt, but he still manage very well.

"I can help you tomorrow," Vitalia told him in Spanish as he struggled once more, resting a hand on his arm in support. Despite herself, she couldn't help the fact that her eyes were straying to his exposed collar. He was getting tanner and tanner as the days passed, and Vitalia had a nagging urge to find out if the rest of his torso was as evenly tanned as his face. If she looked closely, she could see that his dark hair was beginning to lighten as well.

Her thoughts were broken as he asked, in English: "What? All evening?"

"_Español_!" she said with a laugh, and then nodded, returning to English for the sake of clarity. "I can go around to guests with you—that is, if you want me to." She seemed a little doubtful.

James wanted to tell her fervently that he wanted nothing more than for her to accompany him tomorrow night, but refrained, instead settling for a gracious smile and "I would appreciate it. But you don't have to all night, I'm sure there will be people you want to see, and then be amongst people your own age."

The thought of Basilio wooing Vitalia across the dance floor danced across his mind.

Vitalia smiled widely, "James, you are not that much older than I am. And I would be happy to."

"_Gracias_," he said with a smile and she laughed at him.

They continued with the Spanish lessons then, Vitalia coming up with scenarios in which James had to speak, and Armand and Adela continued to dance and adjust the musical line-up for the next evening.

As James watched the couple dance, he realized something that made his stomach drop slightly—he had not recognized any of the music. It dawned on him that he knew absolutely _none_ of the Spanish courts' dances.

Vitalia saw him blanch and she looked at him, worried. "James?"

"I don't—" he started to say before Vitalia stopped him, grinning.

"_En Español, señor_!" she chided lightly.

James took a deep breath then attempted, in his broken Spanish. "_Yo no se los…_" he began, and then realized he didn't know the term for 'dances'. In a desperate attempt, he stood and mimed leading a partner across the floor.

A look of recognition passed of Vitalia's face. "You don't know how to dance?" she asked, switching back to English for the disgruntled James' sake.

"No, no," he shook his head quickly. "I know how to dance perfectly well; I just don't know any _Spanish_ dances," he clarified.

Adela and Armand had stopped their own dancing and James' pantomime.

"Are you mocking us?" Armand asked, surprised.

"No!" James hastily explained his situation as the couple drew level with him and Vitalia.

Adela had her hand on her chin. "Well, James, we're not expecting you to dance, there is no need for you to do so if you don't want to."

Armand nodded, "We just want your company."

James smiled, "Thank you. I apologize," he said.

Armand snorted. "Stop apologizing for things you can not control, James, it's a bad habit."

James grinned.

Vitalia looked saddened; she had been looking forward for the opportunity to be lead across the ballroom floor by James. "If we had known this before, we could have taught you a dance or two…" she trailed off.

James looked aghast at her sad face. "No! It's not your fault, Vitalia, it only just occurred to me—which reminds me," he said, turning to Adela, "Where can I find a new pair of boots?" he asked, gesturing to his old, worn pair.

Adela smiled, "They will arrive tomorrow, along with a few other pairs of shoes."

James thanked the Gods that he had been entrusted to this woman's care. She simply thought of _everything_.

"_Gracias_," he said, and he meant it.

Adela smiled, "_De nada, _James."

"You're accent is getting good," Armand complimented him. "None of that 'grah-see-ahs'," he said. "I do believe our great language is getting murdered the farther it gets from the peninsula."

James smiled.

"I take credit for the fluidity of his accent," Vitalia said to her uncle.

"Ah, well, congratulations to you as well," Armand said dramatically, "for being such a superb teacher."

"Thank you," Vitalia said. She glanced at James, "Shall we continue?"

James looked from her to the clock on the wall. It was nearing nine.

"Dinner should be soon," Adela said before James had the chance to reply. "We can all help James practice."

James smiled, not sure if he should be looking forward to the event or dreading it—Armand had a rather devious gleam in his eyes.

---

Sure enough, dinner had been more than entertaining. James had learned to compliment a woman's dress, formally introduce himself, and curse like any proper sailor, thanks to Armand.

Armand seemed quite delighted with himself for expanding James' vocabulary.

"Tomorrow, James," the governor spoke as he leaned back in his chair, full, "you can accompany one of the three of us at all times, if it makes you at all more comfortable. Lord knows I will need a friend."

"You have plenty of friends," Adela told him from across the table.

"Yes, but I want someone who isn't trying to bribe me or sway my views," Armand said, exhausted. "I swear if one more man offers me an invitation to his summer villa or a hunting trip, I will throw myself off our balcony."

"That would be most unfortunate," James agreed with all seriousness, "who would suffer through shopping with me or ambush in the morning in front of impressionable men?"

Armand and Vitalia laughed while Adela only smiled.

"It would truly be a great loss for all," Armand nodded, raising his glass and toasting James. James smiled and raised his own glass, and the pair of them drank together.

Vitalia watch her uncle and James with a grin. He fit in so easily with the family despite he difference in nationality and strange circumstances. Her dark eyes once again found their way to the open portion of James' collarbone as he too leaned back in his chair, a smile lighting up his bearded face. His eyes were shining now in a manner they hadn't when he'd woken up.

Vitalia could only hope that she had something to do with the light in his dark eyes.

As James turned his gaze to her and smiled, she thought she might be a factor in the equation.

* * *

A few notes: 

1) In Spain, they do not say 'Gracias' with the 'c' as an 's', it's more of a 'th'. My mother speaks Spanish fluently from living in Spain, so thats how I speak it as well. Not that I have anything against other accents-- I think Spanish is very beautiful and sexy no matter how things are pronounced-- but I do love the Spain accent the most.

2) I realized while watching the last few minutes of CotBP, James doesn't wear boots. He wears those funny little heeled shoes. It made me sad.

Expect a new chapter in a few days or so, this time I PROMISE Adela's dinner will be in it. Because I have a true plot now! Don't be surprised if it's a while though, I finally go home tomorrow and I really missed my family. The Twins aren't back in town for a while though, so I won't be at games 24/7, or working every day, so I should be able to find sometime to write.

Who are we kidding. I'll probably write it tomorrow while at the airport and flying.

Please review!!! **Especially if you favorite this story!!!**

-Elle

**Edit: Wow, I can't explain how happy all the reviews made me. I've been stranded in the Chicago airport since like 9 am, for a while I didn't think I'd be getting home, and I finally gave into the $6.00 wireless and it just... made me smile. Today has been-- and I feel still will be-- very frustrating. Thank you so much, and I will be thanking you all again next chapter!!!**


	10. Chapter 10

Well, after the AirTran experience from hell, I am home, and have been since Saturday. I was going to be stranded in Chicago till who knows when (I was told that they didn't know if I would be able to get out on _Sunday_) but then my dad drove down and got me. It should be know that I love my dad to death-- and not just because he drove 6 hours to get me.

Anyways, here is chapter 10! I broke 70 reviews with the last chapter which was an all-time high for me, and it was so nice after the horrible travel day. I apologize that this chapter isn't as long as chapter 9, but it has some moments that will make you go 'squeee!'. At least, I'm hoping so...

* * *

James awoke early the morning of the dinner and went and sat out on the balcony attached to his room clad only in a pair of breeches. The early morning sun kissed his skin as he reclined in the single chair that was on the balcony, resting his bare feet up on the railing. More drowsy than fully awake, James leaned back and closed his eyes, sighing deeply as the rising light slowly warmed his body. 

He enjoyed training the cadets, but he was still tired, and he cherished peaceful moments such as the one he was currently taking advantage of. He could hear the sea down below, the waves crashing against the jetties and shore, a comforting sound that made James all the more calm. He missed the sea. Basilio's question the day before was still fresh in his mind.

Suddenly, James sat bolt upright. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. Hastily, he stood and rushed into his room, quickly pulling on his boots and a shirt over his head. In his haste James nearly stumbled out of his room and down the stairs, but regained his footing as he neared the bottom. Cutting through the kitchen, where he knew the staff was already working, James made his way out of one of the back doors of Armand's mansion and down the stone pathway that lead to the beach.

Hopping on one foot after the other, James pulled off his boots and couldn't help smile at the absurdity of his actions: here he was, a grown and seasoned man, rushing to the sea as if he'd never seen something so wonderful. He threw his chemise atop his boots and, taking it at a run, jumped from the top of a rocky expanse into the crystal blue waters.

James likened it to coming home after a long voyage at sea—except this time, home _was_ the sea.

Cutting through the water with powerful stokes, James surface and shoved his wet hair off of his face, wiping the salty water from his eyes.

It was _bliss_.

James swam back and forth through the water for what seemed like hours, till his already tired body almost refused to move. He knew it really hadn't been that long, the sun was still low enough on the horizon and no sounds from town reached him, but his body was worn enough for him to make believe it so. Eventually, with heavy steps, James made his way up the shore, wringing the water from his hair and attempting to do the same to his breeches.

He laughed aloud at himself as he tried, unsuccessfully, to dry his soaked pants. He wondered if Adela would scold him, but he rather though she would tease him good-naturedly with her little, all-knowing smile.

With a sigh, James collapsed onto the sand near his discarded boots and chemise, scrunching the sand between his toes like a small child. With a stretch, he grabbed his shirt and quickly pulled it over his head, not bothering to straighten it out or tuck it in properly. He just sat and stared out at the open water.

It was like falling in love with the sea all over again.

---

Vitalia had woken up earlier that usual, she wondered if it was from the excitement of the dinner later that evening or the sun that was shining on her from the curtains she'd forgotten to close.

She figured it was both, but mostly the sun.

Disgruntled that she was unable to fall back asleep, Vitalia rose and wrapped herself in her dressing gown then made her way out onto her own, private balcony. She sighed as she breathed in the fresh morning air, slowly waking herself more fully. She could already tell the weather would be perfect for the dinner later that evening, not cold but not as hot as it had been the past few days.

Scanning the horizon and sea before her, it took Vitalia a moment to realize that there was a man swimming in the sea in front of her uncle's home. It took her another moment to realize that that man was James.

Slowly, almost coyly, she smiled.

James looked like he was having a wondrous time; she could almost see the smile on his face from her spot on the balcony, as he cut through the large waves with even strokes. She was also quite content to notice that he had decided to swim shirtless. Slyly, she admired the corded muscles on James' back, her eyes taking in every detail of his powerful biceps as they pulled him forward through the water.

Part of her urged to join him, to jump into the water with the same abandon and swim until she couldn't move anymore. But she knew, deep down, that she really shouldn't.

But oh how she _wanted_ to.

Leaning on the railing, Vitalia continued to watch James swim till he climbed out of the water and flopped down into the sand. Suddenly, a thought came to Vitalia, and she wondered why it hadn't come sooner.

With fluid motion, Vitalia rose and quickly dressed herself, tying her hair in a haphazard braid, and then ran downstairs to the kitchens. Satisfied with her stroke of genius, Vitalia grabbed one of the wicker baskets that hung in the kitchen's pantry and prepared a small basket of fruits and freshly baked muffins for her and James. Grabbing a glass bottle of orange juice from the icebox, Vitalia quickly departed the kitchen through the same door James had earlier that morning.

She reached the beach soon after and found James still sitting peacefully in the sand, allowing the waves to gently lap at his ankles.

"Good morning," she said as she crept up behind him.

James jumped and spun in the sand. He wasn't expecting anyone to join him in the sand, but as Vitalia took a seat beside him, placing the basket of food slightly between them, he couldn't help smile broadly at her.

"_Buenas días_," he responded with a grin.

"Oh, very good," she cooed at him with a teasing smile. "You'll be sweeping the women off their feet tonight."

James smiled, raising an eyebrow. He couldn't really see such a thing. Maybe Basilio, but not him. James thought himself to plain for that. And besides, he thought as he watched Vitalia out of the corner of his eye, there was really only one woman he really wanted to sweep of her feet.

"I've brought you breakfast," she said as she pulled a muffin out for herself, "I thought maybe you'd be hungry after your swim."

James had the decency to blush; he hadn't noticed anyone watching him, but it would just figure that Vitalia would be the one to see him acting like a six-year old.

"Thank you," he managed after a moment and helped himself to an apple. He bit into it and chewed thoughtfully, a comfortable silence falling over the pair. "Do you swim?" James asked after a moment.

"Not very often," Vitalia answered, "I rather like wading though," she said with a grin.

"Wading?" James wasn't quite sure what exactly she meant.

"Walking through or going till it reaches my knees, maybe," she replied.

James smiled at her. "I suppose it's almost the same thing."

Vitalia laughed, "Except for that whole physical exertion and being completely submerged in water," she said seriously.

James shrugged, smiling, "Close enough."

Vitalia looked at him and smiled, drinking in the sight of the wet and tanned man beside her. She rather thought she could do it for the rest of the day.

The pair ate the rest of the baskets' contents, sharing the glass bottle of orange juice like a bottle of rum, and made their way up to the house as the sun began to completely fill the sky and the sounds of life echoed from the plaza and the house above them.

---

James spent much of the rest of the day lounging around with Armand. As soon as he and Vitalia had entered the house, she had been swept away by her maidservants to prepare for the evening. James, who had been quite surprised at the speed at which Vitalia had been taken from him, had wandered the house till he found Armand on the parlor balcony. He had a nagging feeling Armand had seen them down at the beach from the cheeky smile he'd received upon sitting down with the Governor, but Armand said nothing. Instead, he had poured James a cup of coffee and informed him that they would be on their own till somewhere around four, when his wife and niece would re-appear and guests would begin arriving.

"What should we do?" James asked, not really looking forward to the lonely hours ahead—not that Armand wasn't wonderful company.

Armand shrugged, swirling the contents of his coffee cup with a lazy wrist movement. "No idea," was his helpful suggestion. "I never know what to do with myself on days like this. I feel like it's a lot of time, but not enough time to start anything at the same time."

James thought for a moment, trying to think of something that would be entertaining and beneficial as well. "How about a duel?" he suggested after a moment. "Not a 'pistols-to-the-death' duel!" he added quickly at Armand's alarmed face.

Armand laughed, "I was going to say… I didn't think I'd managed to offend you that badly or ruin your honor quite yet."

"You plan on doing so?" James asked, laughing.

"That's how you'll know when I really like you," Armand told him with mock-seriousness. He stood then, setting his coffee cup, now empty, on the small table between them. "Come along, there's a gallery on the other side of the house. We can stab at each other to our hearts content there."

James grinned and followed.

---

The only thing Vitalia really disliked about formal dinners or court dances was the preparation time. The hours it took for her to get ready—not that she didn't like the end result—bordered on ridiculous. She wasn't sure what she would do if she didn't have her aunt to keep her company.

The pair usually spent the mornings soaking in fragrant bathtubs while every part of them was scrubbed viciously and meticulously, ending often times in skin rubbed raw. After their long soaks, massages of the neck and back came; Adela insisted that the posture and weight they would be carrying later that evening on their shoulders deserved reprieve. Vitalia greatly enjoyed this part. After that came the lengthiest portion of the day aside from the engagement itself: hair.

For the better part of four hours Vitalia and Adela, who's hair was not as long but just as thick, were curled, combed, straightened, pinned, and pulled until both had elaborate and elegant up-dos. After that ordeal, another quick soak in scented water was in order, followed by perfume and make-up. Neither woman wore much make-up on their faces, but Adela encouraged liner on the eyes and lipstick. She often never left her home without either for she believed they enhanced a woman's best features: her eyes and her lips.

Vitalia did not complain about her aunt's choices; she thought she looked quite beautiful with the paint. Adela, while she informed her niece quite often she was stunningly beautiful without make-up, couldn't disagree even though she hated to admit it. She, as Armand, often looked upon her niece as her own child. And parents never enjoy watching their children become exceedingly beautiful, being courted by young men, and ultimately whisked away into marriage.

After they applied their make-up, the two women helped each other into their corsets, petticoats, and gowns. Help was often required with stays and ties, but more often than not the pair were able to dress themselves. Once fully dressed, jewelry was put on and shoes slipped into, and final touches were applied to all aspects of each outfit.

Adela smiled down at her niece as she helped tuck a stray piece of hair back into place. "You look beautiful, _princesa_," she said, squeezing Vitalia's shoulders with excitement. "James will have to beat the other men away from you," she told Vitalia, and her smile turned into a rather devious grin.

Vitalia blushed at her aunt's comment. James had been her aunt's favorite subject during their preparations that day and she had eventually gotten Vitalia to admit she had some feelings for the man. Vitalia would never forget the look on Adela's face in her moment of triumph. "Let's hope it won't come to that…" she said, rising and brushing her skirts down with nervous hands. "Shall we?"

Adela smiled, this time kindly, "We shall; I believe Constance told your uncle we would be down shortly. And that was surely near fifteen minutes ago."

With that, she linked her arm with Vitalia's and opened the door, and the pair of beautifully dressed and done-up Spaniards left for the main staircase where Armand and James stood, waiting at the bottom.

---

"I tell you, that woman takes _forever_," Armand muttered, fidgeting with a cuff-link and saying each syllable with distinction, referring to his wife.

James managed a smile as he scrutinized himself in the full-length mirror in the hallway. He and Armand had stopped their dueling around noon and had a light lunch, going over every possible aspect of their bouts before each retired to take a small nap. James was more than a bit exhausted and welcomed the rest, rising a few hours later to bathe, shave, and then dress himself.

True to her word, Adela had seen that shoes for James had been delivered. She had selected and set aside a black pair of boots for the evening, and James slid them on after he had pulled on his breeches, chemise, and socks, all of which were white. The black created quite a contrast, but he wasn't overwhelmed by it, for he knew that the dark blue of his vest and over coat would tone it down—but more than that he trusted that Adela knew what she was doing.

James finished the golden buttons on his vest with quick, nimble fingers that were more used to tying unflappable knots than they were buttonholes, and began working on the neckerchief. James had always hated the things and went without them whenever possible, but he knew it was unthinkable at such as occasion. Grabbing a navy ribbon off his dresser—also chosen and put out by Adela—James tied back his thick brown hair. He noticed it had grown and was noticeably longer than it had ever been in Port Royale.

He wondered if anyone from his old life would recognize him now; he had become a bit leaner, was darker in skin tone than he'd ever been in his life, had longer hair, and was now constantly bearded. He rather enjoyed his beard he thought as he ran his hands over his face, it was small and neat, but he felt it gave him some amount of distinction. That, and Vitalia had told him she liked it one evening when they and Armand and Adela had polished off near four bottles of wine.

With a small sigh, James tied back his hair and grabbed his elegant coat from his bed. Sliding it on one arm at a time, James pulled at the tough fabric to make it fall about him correctly and surveyed himself in the mirror by his bedside. He didn't look half bad, he admitted; the dark blue coloring and golden thread made him feel like he was back in the British Royal Navy, something he thought might have influenced Adela's choice in the outfit, and it made him feel somewhat comfortable. The only thing that was missing, he thought sadly, was a sword of his own and a hat.

He made a mental note to ask the smith at the navy armory about a sword the coming week as he left his room and made his way downstairs, where he again joined Armand on the parlor balcony. The pair of men conversed there for a short while before one of Adela's maids told them that Adela and Vitalia were almost ready, whereupon Armand and James stood and went to wait by the staircase.

Servants and musicians were dashing here and there as the hour of the party drew nearer, yelling at each other and scurrying about.

Armand looked rather bored with the entire situation and raised his eyebrows at James through the mirror.

"You look _fine_, James," he said dryly, "unless you'd wanted your hair done as well?"

James fixed Armand with a glare and said nothing, which only made the Spaniard howl with laughter.

"I am glad you are opening up enough to be mad at me," Armand said and he came to stand by James, going over his own appearance as well. "If I weren't married, you and I could storm about the country and steal young women from farms, day after day."

James laughed and was about to reply when Adela's voice came from the top of the stairwell.

"If you feel like doing such a thing, my dear, I suggest you leave now so I may sweep some young man away for myself."

Armand paled, but smiled, and turned to the stairs. James did so as well and drew in breath at the sight.

Adela looked stunning in a gown of pale blue that fit her like a glove. Edged in silvery lace and a darker blue thread, she stepped carefully down the marble steps, allowing glimpses of delicate silver slippers. She wore no jewelry save her wedding ring and a small pair of diamond earrings, but James was not surprised; Adela was nothing if not the epitome of elegant and he rather thought she could show up to her own party wearing nothing but brown meat paper and still look the best.

James was ready to say that Adela was indeed the best dressed, but then his eyes fell upon Vitalia.

Following slightly behind her aunt with careful steps, Vitalia was dressed in an elaborate gown of deep violet accented by a panel of lighter, purple silk that made up the center of her bodice. Over the lighter silk were small strands of pearls, which continued to line the bodice peace till it came to a point where her skirts began. The bodice hung off her shoulders in a tasteful manner, the sleeves made up of violet, gossamer ribbons. James could see the same ribbons threaded through her dark hair, which had been piled artfully atop her head, and he was sure there were pearls in her hair as well. She wore a large pair of pearls in her ears and white gloves that reached her elbows, and James couldn't take his eyes off of her even as she reached the bottom of the stairs and stood right before him.

She was aware of his eyes and blushed, which made her, if possible, more beautiful.

James wasn't quite sure what to do, so he did the first thing that came to his mind; he knelt slightly and, taking her gloved hand in his own, placed a long, lingering kiss on the top of her hand.

"You…you are beautiful," James told her in slow, hesitant Spanish as he drew away and dropped her hand. James could think of nothing more than carrying Vitalia off in the same manner Armand had been discussing a few moments earlier.

"Thank you," she responded, her blush deeper now from both James' kiss and compliments. "You look handsome as well," she told him in English.

"But I will pale beside you, this evening," he told her, smiling as he continued to take her in, "which is only fair, I assure you."

Vitalia met his eyes then and he held the gaze, wishing for nothing more than to sweep the magnificent woman before him into his arms and kiss her senseless. He wondered if any of his thoughts were being conveyed to her through his eyes, for there was something he couldn't quite read in her own, dark orbs.

James didn't know that the only thing Vitalia wanted was for James to do _exactly_ what he was thinking.

Their contact was broken as Armand turned his attention to his niece, grabbing her arms and spinning her around happily. She laughed at him, her face lit by a bright smile as her uncle continued to dance with her down the hallway.

Adela sidled over to James. "You look very nice, James," she told him with a kind smile.

"No doubt thanks to you," he replied. "You look very lovely, Adela," he said and offered her his arm, seeing as how her husband had since disappeared with their niece into the ballroom.

"Thank you," she said as she linked arms with him. "Vitalia looked very pretty as well," she announced, more for the sake of watching James color and squirm slightly.

"Very pretty," he agreed in a rather far off voice.

Adela grinned. "You'll have to keep her close, tonight," she told him in a deliberately offhand voice, "men will be trying to snatch her up every where she goes."

James did not bother telling Adela that he was planning on keeping a close eye on Vitalia, prepared to save her from any unwanted contact or interaction.

He also didn't see fit to tell Adela that he wanted nothing more than to snatch her up for himself. With on look at his determined face, however, Adela knew that that was _exactly_ what James wanted to do.

* * *

Hopefully, you at least had the _urge_ to 'squee!', and if you didn't I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The plot should start to pick up in the coming chapters, which I will make and effort to make longer, but I can't make any promises :3 

As always, please review!!!

-Elle

**Note: I'm wondering if something happened to dear Krum-Cake... she usually reviewed with every chapter and was always so nice and sweet, but I haven't heard from her since chapter 7 or so... I hope you're alright!!!  
**


	11. Chapter 11

I am so sorry that this is so delayed. I've been busy working and going to baseball games and hanging out with the family. My brother and I watch Bleach together (it's cute) and I've rediscovered Kingdom Hearts and newly discovered MLB The Show '07.

I will be out of town for a few days and I wanted to get this out before I left, and before _The Deathly Hallows_ comes out (OMG, T-MINUS 3 HOURS!!!) I'm sure everyone will be reading that the next few days, but when you're done and (most likely) sad, you can read this and hopefully be happy.

Please review!!!

* * *

James could hardly keep the content smile off his face. He didn't know if he'd ever enjoyed himself more at a function. 

About twenty or so odd couples filled Armand's ballroom, milling and mixing with each other amidst the beautiful music and light chatter. Adela was off with a group of who James assumed were the leading matrons of Palma de Mallroca, gossiping. James was sure that no matter what country, the older women of every society enjoyed nothing more than gossiping and matchmaking.

Having been on the receiving end of _both_ on more than one occasion, James was glad he was new enough to the city to avoid the matchmaking, but he had a feeling that there was not a soul who was not, had not, or would not be talking of him at some point during the evening.

He tried his best not to look awkward as the group turned and looked at him. Adela caught his eye and smiled at him in a way that told him that she was both sorry and _not_ sorry at all.

James sighed and took a long sip of champagne from the glass flute he'd been holding lightly in his hand, the alcohol both cold and refreshing. He scanned the room as the matrons resumed their gossiping, trying desperately to ignore the looks they were giving him. With shrewd eyes James quickly found the flash of deep violet he'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of: Vitalia.

Vitalia had stayed with James for the first half of the party, bringing him around to guests, helping with introductions and polite conversation. James was more than nervous about his newly acquired Spanish skills, but the light pressure of Vitalia's arm on his own was comfort enough, and the small, encouraging smiles she gave him more than did the trick. It was getting harder and harder for James to ignore the way his stomach would jump every time he was on the receiving end of one such smile.

She was truly a vision in her dark silk; the gown fit her like a glove and swirled delicately around her slim body as she moved. He could pick out her laugh if he listened close enough, separating it from the other titters of her friends—two girls just as wonderfully dressed as Vitalia—as she stood with them. James had insisted she go off with them, he didn't want to keep her from them and figured he wasn't really all that fun.

He was quite content to stand along the wall and observe the party in silence, taking in the way the Spaniards danced and spoke. Many of the mannerisms were the same, but James couldn't deny the more pronounced grace that stemmed from the individuals surrounding him.

Armand, like he had predicted before the evening began, was surrounded by both political allies and opponents alike. Despite his earlier complaints about both, Armand seemed to have the attention of all those surrounding him captured with his eccentric personality. The group around the young governor was laughing as Armand waved his arms about, smiling broadly. James had a feeling that, even though he denied it, Armand enjoyed being the center of attention.

James' dark eyes strayed back toward Vitalia and her pair of friends and he couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips. She was truly something, something wonderfully exciting, something beautiful both inside and out—now he only needed to determine what she was to _him_.

James sighed deeply and, raising the flute to his lips, was about to take a sip when a familiar voice interrupted his silence.

"All right there, Commodore?"

James nearly winced at the use of the title, but brushed it off as he turned and looked at Basilio. The Spaniard seemed to take some perverse pleasure in reminding James of his previous post—or, just liked having a title to call James by. James had noticed that Basilio preferred to refer to others not by their names, but by title or rank.

The younger man had joined James in the corner, dressed impeccably in black and red. His hair, normally unruly was slicked back and tied neatly. James vaguely wondered if he'd spend hours on his hair as Vitalia and Adela had done.

With a false cough into his hand, James cleared such childlike thoughts from his mind and nodded at Basilio. "Just fine, Basilio," he said with a smile that didn't necessarily reach his eyes. Basilio was nice and polite enough, but the air of arrogance and something else James just couldn't put his fingers on irked him. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, motioning around the room with his champagne flute.

Basilio shrugged one shoulder in a lazy arc. "As much as can be expected, I suppose. This is low-key as far as parties go," he told James, glancing at him with on brow raised over a dark chocolate eye.

James resisted the urge to tell Basilio that he was quite aware of such a thing. Basilio wasn't aware of the society polish or lifestyle James had previously lived; maybe he was just trying to be nice. James doubted it, but instead asked "And the large parties? What are they like?"

Basilio pursed his lips for a moment, grabbing a glass of wine off a silver tray that passed him, nodding his thanks to the servant carrying it. "Chaotic, I think would be adequate."

James laughed. "Oh?" He could understand the description; the voices, the drinks, the dancing, the scandal…there was surely no ball or large-scale party that went without any of them.

Basilio took a swig from his glass and nodded, shrugging once more. "I don't know how often you went to balls," he said with a node to James, which he appreciated, "but the ferocity to which mothers want their daughters married off and the amount of seduction that goes on in gardens and behind closed doors…not too mention the entire political aspect of it all. So-and-so cutting this person, and then some one else not receiving an invitation or introduction…" Basilio sighed. "It makes me wish I'd grown up on a small island with nothing but a bottle of rum and a monkey for company."

James said nothing for a few moments; he was surprised that Basilio showed such insight, or so much emotion on such a seemingly unimportant topic. James himself had not been raised in such an environment; he'd grown up in the Caribbean with his father, a Navy man just like he was. James' father was never so high up as a commodore, but he was the proud captain of his own vessel and loyal crew.

His father had never been one for fancy parties or societal functions, so James had never really had experience with such things until he climbed the naval ranks himself. He was not a playboy or social butterfly, but he held his own at engagements, able to be cordial and brief, and keep to himself with out appearing rude.

"You have my sympathy and understanding," James said, quirking his lips in a smile. "Were you always in society like this?"

Basilio nodded, taking another healthy drink from his glass. "My mother was a countess," Basilio answered in a tone James would define as 'mournful'.

James winced, but smiled. "My apologies."

Basilio smirked, "My thanks." He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the room, searching for what James didn't know. A light came into the Spaniards eyes after a moment and he grinned wryly. "Society does have it's perks, though," he said, tossing back what was left of his wine and depositing the glass on a silver tray similar to the one he'd picked it up from.

James gave him a look, then turned over his shoulder to the direction Basilio was facing. He wanted to smile, but instead, narrowed his eyes slightly as Basilio's comment sank in.

Vitalia was heading towards the pair, one of her friends at her side. They were smiling almost secretively at one another and giggling. Part of James reasoned that giggling, smiling young women were never a good thing, but the other part of him was pleased that Vitalia was walking towards him with such an expression.

He was not pleased, however, with the look on Basilio's face, which was one of cocky anticipation. James was, by now, well aware of Basilio's relationship with Vitalia, as well as what Basilio _wanted_ from his relationship with Vitalia. Combine that with his own twisted feelings for the young woman, James felt the need to glare at Basilio.

Being the man he was, however, James said nothing and watched Vitalia and her friend approach.

Vitalia smiled softly, almost shyly at James as she and her friend drew level wit the pair of men and he smiled in return. "James, this is Isabella," she said, gesturing to her friend, who smiled at him and held out a hand.

James, ever the gentleman, took her hand and brushed his lips across the top of her glove. He had heard Vitalia mention Isabella from time to time and was proud to finally be able to match the name to a face. "It's nice to finally meet you, Vitalia speaks of you often," he said with a smile.

Vitalia opened her mouth to protest, but Isabella beat her to it. "Nothing bad, I hope," she said with a smile. Her voice was deep and throaty and seemed to fit all too well with her curvaceous and rather seductive figure. James thought that Vitalia was the most beautiful creature in the room—or in any room, really—but he was no fool and knew that Isabella was a close second.

James laughed and shook his head, which seemed to appease the irked Vitalia. The women then turned to Basilio, who had been waiting respectfully and silently beside James. James was more than a little relieved that Vitalia hadn't jumped into his arms once more.

Basilio smiled lazily at them and nodded, "Good evening, Isabella," he took her hand and kissed it as James had done. "Vitalia," he took Vitalia's hand as well, his lips lingering a few seconds more than necessary.

Vitalia's cheeks darkened with embarrassment, James' with anger, and Isabella simply looked amused.

"H-how are you, Basilio?" Vitalia stammered, attempting to compose herself. She had known Basilio since she'd arrived in Mallorca and viewed him as nothing more than a friend, but the attention he paid her and his almost godlike appearance still affected her. She pointedly avoided looking at James as she waited for the color to drain from her face; she could feel his eyes on her and she was _sure_ he'd noticed Basilio's lingering.

"Wonderful," he replied in smooth tones that implied that he couldn't want anything more than to be in her company.

Isabella cleared her throat lightly in the awkward silence that followed Basilio's response. James was now trying his hardest not to glare at his younger comrade and Vitalia's cheeks were dark with embarrassment once more.

"You know, _Señor_ Navarra, I believe you still owe me a dance, after departing from my mother's last party so early," Isabella said with a small smile. Her eyes twinkled as she looked at Basilio, who turned his gaze from Vitalia to her sultry friend.

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Is that so? Well, allow me to mend my grievous error," he said with mock seriousness. Basilio would have rather stayed with Vitalia, especially since he would be leaving her alone with James, but he was not rude. At least not to women.

He held out his hand and Isabella took it with a smile. Basilio glanced at James, then Vitalia. "I trust you will save me a dance, Vitalia?" he asked, grinning. Without waiting for a reply, Basilio lead Isabella to the center of the ballroom as the musicians began a new song.

James watched Basilio then said, more to himself than Vitalia, "That was rather cocky…"

Vitalia laughed and looked up at James. He looked positively adorable when he was disgruntled as he was now. She couldn't help the small spark of pleasure that arose from his annoyance with Basilio. "That is Basilio," she replied.

James looked down at her, his visage calming slightly as his eyes found hers. "I know," he said with somewhat of a sigh, "After a few days of being in his company, I know."

Vitalia laughed again and watched her two friends whirl across the floor. She would have to thank Isabella later; her friend knew Basilio's comments and actions around her embarrassed her. Despite her Vitalia's own firm belief that they were nothing but friends, Isabella seemed to take her aunt and uncle's side in matters regarding the suave young man.

"He's a wonderful man, I'm not denying that," Isabella had told her earlier after Vitalia told her what Adela and Armand had said to her, "but he's not used to not getting what he wants, and we _all_ know he wants you."

"You don't trust him?" Vitalia had asked, surprised. Basilio had never compromised her trust, despite his flirtations.

Isabella thought on that then shook her head. "No, that's not it. Just be careful what messages you send to him," she said, and then smiled at Vitalia. "Now, why don't you introduce me to your new houseguest."

Vitalia didn't usually mind that Isabella could read her like a book, but her all-knowing smile was somewhat annoying. Isabella didn't need to ask how Vitalia felt about James after listening to her talk about him.

"He is kind," Vitalia offered halfheartedly to James, looking up at him. "And he has never given me any reason to fear him," she said, reading the look on James' face—it was the same look Armand had given her a few days before.

James watched Basilio a few moments more than shrugged, "He hasn't done anything to upset me, either, but…" he trailed off. He just couldn't put his finger on it, and he felt like a fool for not knowing how to voice his thoughts. The fact that Vitalia was now so close to him, looking perfectly divine. He could smell her, a flowery fragrance he only noticed when she was by his side.

He coughed, then shook his head, determined to move on to a new, safer topic, as well as something to distract him from Vitalia's proximity; Basilio was simply a subject he didn't feel he had enough footing to hold him down. "I'm thinking of renting lodgings here," he said, holding his hands behind his back as he spoke. His eyes met Vitalia's as he finished his sentence, his tone making it seem more a question or desire for approval.

Vitalia's eyebrows shot up and her eyes grew wide. "What? Why? Don't you like it here?"

James chuckled at her astonishment; surely she didn't think he'd live in Armand's home the rest of his life? "Of course I like it here," he assured her, resisting the urge to pat her arm in a comforting manner. He didn't know if he could stand the physical contact; being so near to her was already confusing his senses. "But I'd feel awful if I lived off your uncle the rest of my life."

Vitalia looked rather put out, but only pursed her lips.

James couldn't help laughing at Vitalia's disgruntled face. "I want to get a place _here_, in Palma de Mallorca," he told her, too kind to let her suffer any longer, "There are a few empty houses on a road not to far from here," he said, "I was thinking of asking Armand what he knew about them."

Vitalia thought a moment, trying to remember the homes that were near her own. A flash of large pillars and whitewash came to mind and she nodded, "I think I know where you mean. They are empty?" She recalled there being at least three such houses down the back road James was speaking of.

"One of them certainly is," James nodded. "It's not as large as this house, but it's a decent size. And I won't need that much space anyways."

"Do you intend to hire help?" Vitalia questioned. She was looking for a loophole in James' plan that would force him to stay here. She knew he was a capable man, but managing a household without servants was a chore, and while she knew her Uncle was paying James well, she was secretly hoping that it wasn't enough for him to move out so quickly.

James thought a moment then nodded. "A few maids and a cook to be sure, but I don't need an extensive staff. When I lived in the Caribbean I had a home much larger than the one I'd like to have here and only had a maid, a cook, an assistant for the cook, and a butler, who happened to enjoy gardening and did some of that as well."

Vitalia was slightly impressed. Her uncle was a very capable man, but even he'd had a valet. Still, though, she didn't want James to go. "How soon will you be leaving?" she asked, her tone soft.

James looked down at her, slightly alarmed by her sad and disappointed tone. Surely, he hadn't upset her? It had never been his intention, in fact, far from it. James had been musing on the aspect of him living out of Armand's house and reasoned that, should he choose to—since he certainly wanted to—he could court Vitalia without it seeming scandalous or improper.

"I won't be far," he said gently, smiling down at her. "And you can't think I'd never come visit?"

Vitalia nodded, she knew it was true. James was not the kind of man to simply ignore those who had been kind to him, and besides that, she knew that he liked her small family a great deal. Part of her, the irrational side of her, wondered if maybe James wanted to move out to have the sort of freedom most young, handsome men enjoyed—women.

While she couldn't necessarily see James as the rakish sort, he was with no doubt a virile man capable of desire and passion.

James watched her face carefully, trying to discern what the flicks of her eyes mean, what the purse of her lips indicated, but he had never been good at reading people and he didn't suddenly attain the ability then.

"Of course I will come visit," James said after a moment of silence where Vitalia still looked slightly upset. "I'll probably still be here just as much," he thought aloud, "I mean, I don't have any friends here besides you three," he finished with a wry grin.

Vitalia couldn't help her smile. "Nonsense," she told him, attempting to adopt a stern tone, "you have your cadets; many of their sisters or parents are here now, and they all say their sons speak very highly of you. And Basilio as well," she added, "Surely he is something of a friend to you?" The two men had been conversing, hadn't they?

James' grin turned into more of a smirk, "Something like that," he said. James thought it rather bordered on 'romantic rival', but didn't tell Vitalia so, since it inevitably would end in him having to explain that she was the object of their rivalry. James could see that ending a number of ways, none of them particularly pleasant.

Vitalia looked at him, hard, before speaking again. "James, you're the type of man who inspires loyalty with the drop of a hat. Only a week or so you've been with those men and already they are telling their parents that they like and respect you."

James had the decency to be abashed; he had not considered that cadets amongst his friends. James had never been much of a people-person; he kept to himself more often than naught. He had acquaintances in Port Royale, but no one he attempted to really spend time with. Even with Elizabeth, though he did care for her deeply. But in Palma de Mallorca, James found himself going out of his way to speak with Armand or duel with him, to spend time with Adela and her quick, dry wit, and, of course, to be around Vitalia. Her company, even if both of them were silently reading or drawing, in Vitalia's case, was something James treasured.

"Thank you," was all James could manage to say. The pair stood in silence for a moment and James began to hum along with the music.

Vitalia looked at him, surprised. "James?" she asked uncertainly.

He stopped at looked at her and then, his eyes widened and he realized what he'd been doing. He knew this song!

"Quick!" he said, grinning. He grabbed Vitalia's hand in a manner that he normally would scoff at and pulled her out onto the busy dance floor where other couples were twirling. He wasn't sure what made him act in such a way; maybe it was the fact he finally found something familiar in the music, maybe it was the champagne, or maybe, it was the way Vitalia looked, so beautiful next to him, and the feelings he had for her that he'd began to recognize within himself over flowed.

He pulled her up against him and quickly began moving them with the song. Vitalia, quick to recover, found the steps simple and followed along and once she got the hang of what was going on, she looked up at James and smiled.

He was grinning broadly down at her, obviously very pleased with himself.

"I know this song," he told her and he spun her out on one arm.

"So I can see," she replied and she turned back into him. She could see Basilio and Isabella across the room; Basilio's eyes on her alerted her to his presence, but she ignored the hot stare and instead focused on the man who had his arms around her.

She had never seen James so openly happy, he was laughing as they danced, the smile never leaving his face. She couldn't help but smile along with him. How could she not? Here she was, dancing in the arms of a wonderful, handsome man

"Will you come with me?" James asked as Vitalia moved in closer to him as they danced, then spun out again.

"What?" she asked and she spun back into his arms.

"To the house," he said, still smiling, as she took both his hands and took a few steps back, then forward towards him.

"What?" she asked again, her voice raising an octave. James was asking her to his house? _Alone_? She was really quite sure he was not _that_ type of man.

James laughed aloud, "To look at it," he clarified. He was amused at he surprise, but he couldn't deny that he would indeed enjoy Vitalia in his house. Once he had one, that is.

"Of course," Vitalia said and she was in both James' arms once more. Her cheeks were still burning, but she ignored them. "When?"

"What about tomorrow?" James asked as the dance slowed to a stop. He bowed smartly, one of his hands still clutching Vitalia's. When he stood, he caught Basilio moving towards them out of the corner of his eye.

Again, he didn't know what made him do it, did not know what came over him. Maybe it was Basilio quickly coming towards them to claim his promised dance from Vitalia. All he knew is that the woman before him was something miraculous, someone special, and someone who had unexpectedly captured his heart.

Looking into her eyes all the while, James leaned down and asked her in a clear, determined voice: "Will you go to the Governor's Ball with me, Vitalia?" Then, much like Basilio had done earlier, James placed a lingering kiss on the top of her hand. His dark eyes never left hers.

Vitalia's face colored darkly. She knew people around them were staring, whispering. She could feel the heat of Basilio's gaze, the amusement of her aunt and uncle in the crowd, but she ignored them. James was the only thing she saw before her.

* * *

CLIFF HANGER! Ok well, sort of. There will be a few more of those in the coming chapters, so don't get disgruntled by them. 

I will try and update again in a week or so, depending on how long I'm up north and work, but it should be out quicker than this one-- I'm kind of excited for it. It will be a bit more fluff and a bit more open flirtation, then the Governor's Ball, then...

Well, you'll just have to wait and see.

Please review, **_especially_** if you favorite this story!!!

-Elle


	12. Chapter 12

As usual, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I tried to upload it last night, but fanfiction was being lame and not letting me. Unlike normally, there is a valid reason for lateness (except for that one time I was stuck in Chicago). If you can't tell from my love of the Minnesota Twins, I live in Minnesota, in St. Paul to be exact, not all that far from the 35W bridge collapse. I was not personally involved in the disaster, but it has struck pretty close to home. I had been on the bridge a few days before around the same time. It's a scary thing.

I don't usually do dedications or what not, and while it doesn't really say much, I am dedicating this chapter to all the people involved in the collapse; the first responders, the people who went out of their way and put their own lives in danger to save a stranger's (the people who helped the school bus of 60+ children comes to mind here), the divers, and most importantly, those who lost their lives.

* * *

Vitalia woke with a smile on her face. She rose quickly, slipping into her dressing gown and donning her slippers in a fashion that was decidedly faster than usual. The small clock on her dressing table chimed nine. She sat before the large mirror and began running a brush through her dark hair, wincing at the knots that had appeared over night. Still, the wide smile remained on her face. 

She couldn't help it. The events of the previous night were still fresh in her mind.

She could still see James knelt over her hand, his eyes earnest yet fierce and determined as well. She could still feel the electric tingle and warmth of his hand through her gloves, and the way her heart seemed to leap from her chest. She could still feel the way her breath had hitched in her throat. And she could still hear the way the way she spoke, in a soft voice with a broad smile on her face, "Of _course_."

James had risen from her hand then but did not let go immediately. He, too, looked almost dazed by his own actions, but a smile quickly found its way onto his face, lighting up his handsome features. "Thank you," he said, more to himself than Vitalia as he slowly let go of her hand.

Her grin had turned almost devilish. "It would have been too cruel to have refused; you would have made quite a spectacle," she said, nodding to the crowd around them that was tittering and returning to their previous activities now that the scene between James and Vitalia was over.

James had blushed, obviously just noticing the attention, and then did his best to remain composed. Vitalia was aware he was not used to being in the eye of society unless it had to do with work.

His most recent actions certainly had nothing what so ever to do with the Navy or training cadets.

Vitalia stared at her reflection as she finished running the brush through her hair. She wasn't sure why, but there was something different about her complexion. Her skin seemed to hold more color, and her eyes a new light.

She vaguely recalled her aunt telling her once that love did many things to a woman, and she wondered if her change in coloring could be attributed to such a thing.

She'd realized it—that she was in love—the night before as well.

It hadn't hit her in a rush or suddenly appeared to her as she'd often heard it described, or like an epiphany that had miraculously come to her. Rather, it had slowly dawned on her in an almost surreal manner.

It wasn't when he'd asked her to accompany him to the ball, or when he'd danced with her again later that evening, his hands lingering on her waist a few seconds more than was proper. It had been when he'd bid her goodnight, escorting her up the marble steps to her door. Armand and Adela were still downstairs, dictating the clean up and saying their farewells to the few lingering guests.

They had stopped in front of Vitalia's door and James unlaced his arm from hers, staring down at his shoes for a moment before turning to her upturned face. Vitalia had the distinct urge he'd wanted to kiss her then, the way his eyes were burning into hers, the way his breath suddenly seemed almost labored, but he was far to gentlemanly for that.

"This is where I leave you, then," he said, disappointment evident in his tone of voice.

Vitalia smiled up at him. "It is, but surely I will see you tomorrow."

James grinned then, "Of course; don't think I've forgotten your promise to accompany me tomorrow on my search for a home."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said softly. She thought that James could hear the sincere feeling in her words, and the way his lips quirked and his gaze softened told her he did.

"Good night then, Vitalia," he said softly. He didn't kiss her, not even her cheek or her hand; rather he'd raised his own hand and brushed a single finger across her cheek in a soft, fleeting caress. His touch was quick, and he seemed to realize what he'd done soon after he'd began and then withdrew his hand.

He murmured a quick good-night and made for his own rooms then, not looking back as he quickly entered and shut his own door, leaving a rather happily dazed Vitalia in his wake.

It was then, that moment, when his finger brushed quickly over her cheek, that she realized she was in love.

All the things James had done with her, done _for_ her, came to mind as she'd touched a hand to her cheek, which still burned from his caress. He was a gentleman, through and through, but Vitalia could tell he'd tasted adventure, he knew what it was to want and pursue something. He was humble and quiet in his own right, yet he commanded your attention and respect. He was kind, thoughtful, and handsome as well.

And she loved him.

Staring at her reflection as she replaced her brush on the vanity table, Vitalia resisted the urge to smile coyly at herself. Instead, she rose and departed from her room, determined to eat something before she accompanied James to find a new home. She was aware that, more than likely, her uncle and aunt would be with them as well—James wasn't the type of man to remove her from the eye of a chaperone in such a public setting—but she wasn't deterred. She was sure that as long as she was in James' company, she would be perfectly content.

Because, she thought as she entered the sitting room to her aunt and uncle conversing lightly, that was just how love worked.

---

James stared at himself in the mirror as he shrugged into a jacket. His face was blank, he looked almost haggard.

He was, he thought, most effectively losing his mind.

Well, he supposed, it had started some time around when he'd decided to join Jack Sparrow's crew, but he liked to think he was getting over such lapses in judgment.

Apparently, he thought as he adjusted his necktie, _not_.

Making such a public display of himself—he winced at the memory. What was _happening_ to him? He couldn't deny he was pleased with the outcome of his rash actions—accompanying Vitalia to the Governor's Ball was something he more than a little bit looking forward too—but he never thought he'd bow down over her hand in front of a crowded ballroom and ask her in the manner that he did. And then before he'd left her at her room, the way he'd touched—no, _stroked_—her cheek...

He still couldn't place a finger on what had made him do it, something else that bothered him. He supposed if he wanted to be logical, it was the magic that seemed to be in the air, her beauty, the music...

And if he wanted to be realistic, it could have been the simple fact that he _liked_ her.

James usually prided himself on his ability to be realistic is drastic situations, but he wasn't sure he'd ever felt like this before. He never had the strange tingling that seemed to roam his whole body when he saw Elizabeth, the tingling that nearly overwhelmed him when he was near Vitalia. He'd never done anything that could be considered rash—except for the whole pirate-thing—where Elizabeth was concerned. Sure he'd wanted to protect her, but he was never really protective of her when she wasn't in any real danger.

Now James had the tendency to scan crowds and always keep on Vitalia. And he wanted nothing more than to sweep her away from Basilio and his watching eyes.

Basilio had to know, James thought morosely as he sat down and pulled his boots on.

The smug little smile Basilio would send his way every now and then told James that he knew. James was fairly certain he'd cast an equally smug look Basilio's way after Vitalia had said yes, another example of the strange affect she had on him. She made him quitepossessive. Even after she had answered in the affirmative, it irked him that Basilio still danced with her. James had then danced with her twice more—as many times as could be considered proper, not that it really mattered since James had knelt over her hand in the middle of the ballroom—in order to keep his sanity.

He groaned, another thought occurring to him. If Basilio knew, then Armand certainly knew. And if Armand knew, then Adela had probably known before either of them. He wondered if Vitalia knew as well, then maybe he could just save himself the trouble of admitting it and everyone could get along happily as he courted her.

_Courting_. Another groan.

James had done it only once, and it had turned out rather botched. He liked to think he'd outgrown that seemingly awkward stage. After Elizabeth had rejected him, James hadn't really given much more thought to marriage.

_Marriage_. James put his head in his hands. How could be thinking about such a thing so soon? He knew he liked Vitalia, he was sure he _more_ than liked Vitalia, but _marriage_… he didn't want to rush...again. He didn't want to make it mechanical or something to keep up his social appearances like it had been with Elizabeth.

James decided then and there, sitting dejectedly on his bed with his head in his hands, that next time—this time—it would be for love.

---

It was nearing eleven o'clock when the party consisting of James, Vitalia, Armand, and Adela finally departed from Armand's large home. Adela, who had insisted on coming, flatly assured everyone that there was no need to rush to examine the property.

"It's a short walk," she said, waving a hand at her husband, who seemed rather excited about the whole thing. "And I haven't eaten breakfast yet."

"And you _would_ be awfully hungry this morning, wouldn't you," Armand nearly purred at her, razing his brows in a lazy, feline manner. Adela simply smirked seductively back at him while James pointedly examined a loose thread in the sofa and Vitalia snorted into her tea.

After Adela had eaten and everyone had dressed, the group left through the front door and began walking down the small lane that lead to what James hoped would become his new home. The thought of actually living in a town that was in no way connected to Britain, to his past, was still odd to him. he felt, more often than not, that maybe this was just perhaps a very good dream, and he'd wake up back on The Flying Dutchman, or in fact, be dead—again.

Adela interrupted his musings as she stopped him on the steps. "Walk with me?" she asked. Her tone implied that she expected nothing short of a 'Yes, I'd be delighted', and so, with a smile, James offered her his arm.

The pair walked in silence for a few moments, watching Armand and Vitalia ahead of them, before Adela spoke.

"That was quite a show last night," she said lightly.

James caught himself before he tripped over his own feet and resisted the urge to groan. There was no mistaking what Adela was referring to. "Oh?" he croaked.

Adela grinned. "Indeed. Your act of devotion will surely be the talk of the town in no time."

James did groan this time. "Wonderful," he muttered.

Adela glanced at him, her mouth thinning at his tone. "I assume your disgruntled tone has nothing what so ever to do with my niece," she said evenly.

James was quick to assure her it didn't. "I have nothing but the most honorable of intentions towards your niece," he told her for lack of better words. "I merely don't enjoy being gossiped about. Nor," he added so softly that Adela had to lean into him to hear, "do I want Vitalia to be the subject of such talk."

Adela knew then that her niece had caught a good one. His response and defensive stance on her niece being the subject of ballroom chatter told her all she needed to know. A smile found its way on to her face and she patted James' arm. "You're a good man, James Norrington," she told him.

Up ahead, Armand was teasing his niece with all the force he could muster. Outwardly, he found the attachment between Vitalia and James amusing, while inwardly he was more than a little pleased. As governor, and as a well-connected man before hand, Armand had been and was often given the privilege to count many a person of his acquaintance. Given this luxury, Armand had become, what he thought was, an excellent judge of character.

He'd known cheaters, liars, and schemers. He'd known a fair amount of men who were cruel to their wives and wives that were more than unfaithful. He knew power hungry people who would stop at nothing for a little bit of recognition, whether it be bad or good. But he also knew good people; honest people who went out of their way to help when nothing was expected in return. He knew families that were the epitome of happiness, husbands who adored their wives and children, and friends who would give their life for one of their own.

It was no longer difficult for Armand to place people in such categories, good or bad, general though they may be. And he had known, from the moment that Vitalia had found James and he had woken up, which area James belonged in.

He took satisfaction in knowing, once again, he had been right. Thinking exactly what has wife had stated just moment before, Armand knew James was indeed a good man.

"So, my dear niece, how are you this fine morning?" Armand drawled, raising an eyebrow lazily.

He grinned when Vitalia blushed in embarrassment and surprise; clearly Armand had just interrupted some very _interesting_ thoughts.

"Wonderful," she told him in an offhand voice.

"I'll give you a silver for your thoughts," he teased, nudging her lightly in the ribs with his elbow.

"I'm quite alright, thank you," was the response, and she now sounded disgruntled. Vitalia knew Armand well enough to know when he was teasing her.

"They wouldn't happen to be about a certain Englishman, would they?" he asked innocently.

Vitalia looked as though she could have hit him. "No," she ground out, "I was thinking about one of my paintings."

It wasn't a _complete_ lie. She was thinking about the painting of James that was still halfway from completion. She was trying to figure out how to make his eyes light up on canvas like they had the previous night on the ballroom floor. She was however, as her uncle knew, thinking of James, though.

"Of course you were," said Armand lightly, who knew nothing of the portrait. "Now really," he said, in a more serious tone, "what are you thinking about our good English friend?"

Vitalia sighed; she knew her uncle was an expert at reading her, and with the events of last night _she_ knew that he knew there was no way she _wouldn't_ be thinking of him.

She wasn't sure how to answer he uncle. She finally settled on "Good things," which made Armand smile.

"Good," he replied and looped her arm through his. "I believe that sentiment is along the same line as his own." Armand couldn't help smiling at the blush that crept onto his nieces face and he couldn't miss the small smile that found its way to her lips.

---

The group reached the house James had in mind in good time and stood in front of it for a few, silent moments. Adela had detached herself from James' arm and allowed him to stare at the dwelling in peace.

He stood before the gate of the house, for the entirety of the property was gated, and stared up at the large, white, two story building with his arms crossed solidly over his chest. The plant life had grown somewhat wild in the time since the house had been abandoned, but it was nothing that couldn't be controlled. Paint was chipping in some places as well, but that could also be easily fixed. James even fancied doing it himself, unheard of though it may be.

The more James thought about it, he couldn't really see himself living in any other home. This was certainly a bit smaller than his previous home in Port Royale, but James didn't see that as a bad thing since there were more rooms in his old residence than he had known what to do with.

There was a certain grace about the white washed house, the tall pillars that held the portico up were imposing, but the gentle slope of the arches and windows gave it a welcoming feeling. James had not yet seen the inside of the house, but he had high hopes for it.

"Shall we?" Armand asked after James had finished scrutinizing the front.

James nodded to him, and the Spaniard immediately produced the key for the house, which he had acquired a few days ago when he announced to the city council that there was interest in purchasing the home. James, Vitalia, and Adela followed Armand up to the front door, which had a heavy chain looped through the handles. Armand made quick work of them then turned to James and handed him a second key.

James smiled slightly as Armand winked at him and backed out of his way. With a steady hand, James unlocked the door and pushed it open with a shove.

Light flooded into the circular entryway, which was covered in a layer of dust. The windows were boarded up, but sunlight shone through the cracks, illuminating the rooms in an earth-real manner. Two staircases were in the entryway, curving along the walls and meeting together at a large archway on the second floor that stood directly above a similar archway on the ground floor below it. An ornate chandelier hung in the center.

"It's beautiful," Vitalia murmured as she came to stand next to James, who had been the first to enter the house. Her skirts left a trail through the dust on the floor, but she didn't mind.

"It is," James agreed, then turned to her and smiled. "Shall we see the rest of it?"

Vitalia returned the smile and nodded. Then, without a second thought, she took James offered arm and the pair crossed through the ground floor archway.

Adela watched them and smiled. She glanced at her husband, who looked quite amused. "They are adorable," she told him.

Armand, who could find no better way to describe it, simply agreed.

---

James was utterly content with the house. The rooms were spacious with large windows, tall ceilings, and beautiful damask covered walls. The dark mahogany of the study was breathtaking, and the terrace on the back of the house overlooked a beautiful portion of the sea, a stretch of white sand before it. The kitchen was a good size as well, small enough for a thinly staffed household, yet big enough to provide ample space should James ever decide to entertain. It had a room with a beautiful marble floor that could double as a ballroom, as well as a decently sized stable. The master suite was beautiful, dark and rich in color, and the three other bedrooms were in no manner shabby or small.

Without a doubt, James knew he wanted to live there. He found himself imagining the furnishings in each room as he went through them, happily taking advice from Adela and Vitalia, who certainly knew more about decorating than he did. Every now and then he would make a suggestion as the two women outfitted the rooms, and he was pleased to find that they always responded in a positive manner. He was pleased to know he could do more than wave a sword around and lead men in battle. They were admirable skills, to be sure, but he was glad he could be somewhat domestic as well.

Aside from decorating in his mind, he also found himself, more often than not, envisioning Vitalia in the rooms with him. He could see them sharing dinner on the terrace, or reading peacefully together in the library. He even imagined a studio in a smaller room towards the back of the house, where she could see the ocean out the large windows and paint to her hearts content. James would pause when this occurred, watching the real Vitalia with careful eyes.

He was sure he knew what this meant, but he tried to push the musings aside. What with his behavior at the ball the night before, he didn't need visions of Vitalia living with him weighing on his mind as well.

He was standing in what he imagined would be a spacious parlor by the back terrace. He and Armand had wrenched the doors open and a soft, seaside breeze was slowly trickling into the room. His other companions had disappeared upstairs some time ago, wanting to look over the bedchambers once more, as well as admire a large landscape that had been left hanging in the hallway. James smiled slightly, remembering how delighted Vitalia had been when she'd seen the painting. She was captivated by it, and tried to translate her artist's point of view to the rest of the group, who all just thought it was pretty.

"James, I will be very disappointed in you if you do not purchase this home," Armand announced as he joined James by the open doors.

"I think I would be disappointed in myself," he replied, smiling at Armand.

"Good," Armand said, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing about the dust covered room. "I think it suits you," he finally said after a moment of silence.

James couldn't help but agree.

The rustle of skirts and footsteps reached both men's ears and they turned to watch Adela and Vitalia enter as well.

"You must buy this house," Vitalia told him sternly, though she smiled broadly, "and not only just for the paintings they left here."

"There are more?" James asked; he hadn't gone into all of the remaining bedrooms. He himself would only be using one, and he assumed the rest of the rooms were in much the same condition as the few he'd looked at.

Vitalia nodded as she and her aunt drew level with the two men. "In the spare bedrooms. More landscapes," she said, "just as wonderful as the one in the hall."

"Well, that settles it, then," James said in a teasing tone, pleased by the blush that crept onto her cheeks.

"It really is beautiful, James," Adela said in an attempt to draw the attention away from her embarrassed niece, though she was grinning as well.

"I know," James nodded his agreement, "and I do hope to purchase it. Or rent it, at least," he added as an after thought. He had no idea what the price of the house was. And even if he did, he didn't know the exchange rate between pesetas and pounds well enough to get a general idea.

"You will be buying it, I imagine," Armand said rather loftily, in a tone that told James he made enough money—or would. James made a mental note to actually discuss such things with Armand later in the day. He thought it would be a good idea if he was able to deal with at least some of his financial matters on his own, and he felt bad relying on Armand for even more than he already was.

"I suppose I will, then," he replied after a moment, his eyes sweeping the room once more. He couldn't help thinking, as he looked over at Vitalia, who stood smiling by an open door, that she seemed like she belonged there.

---

The foursome departed the house soon afterwards and James, looking for an excuse to speak with Armand privately, asked him to accompany him to town on account of his desire to have the Navy's blacksmith make him a sword. James was not allowed the opportunity right away as Adela insisted that she and Vitalia accompany them as far as the square, for they had business at the modiste. After James and Armand had finally bid the two women goodbye in the plaza, James broached the subject.

Armand smiled at him good naturedly as they walked. "I was wondering when you were finally going to ask," he said.

"Good manners are the only thing that kept me from bellowing it back there," James said honestly. The more he had thought about it, the more it had killed him; he hated not knowing something so vital.

"I was hoping to save this news for later this evening," Armand said with a sigh, "but now is as good a time as any."

James looked at him questioningly as he continued.

"I wrote to the head of the Spanish Navy some time ago, soon after you'd started training the cadets here. I explained to him your situation, as well as your skills, which I assure you, are many. I'm assuming you didn't know I had a few of your cadets reporting to me, as well as the arms master and a few other officers of your progress and methods?"

James blinked once, then twice. "I had no idea." He smiled after a moment then; Armand's actions didn't surprise him in the least. In fact, he was surprised he hadn't thought of it sooner and on his own.

"Well good," Armand said with a grin, then waved his hand in the air, "but that's not the point. The commander, who, by the way, happens to be a relatively close cousin, was impressed by you. And not just your prowess or skill with a sword, but of your devotion to these cadets, men you barely knew, and in turn, to a country you aren't from, and have had bad relations with in the past."

James remained silent. Armand continued.

"He expressed his wishes for someone like you under his command and, though England may turn on Spain once again or even the other way around," he added, "the Spanish Royal Navy would like to offer you a position as a captain, based here, in Palma de Mallorca."

James remained silent still.

He could not believe his ears. While had expected to remain at his post of training cadets, he had by no means expected to be given a position, let alone a ranked one. Millions of things were racing through his mind, everything from the house he wanted to purchase to his old position for England to wondering if he now outranked Basilio.

James turned to Armand, unsure of how exactly to express his gratitude.

Armand smiled at James' blank look. "I assume you accept?" he asked lightly.

James immediately nodded as they turned a corner and entered into the Navy docks. "Of course I do! I'm just…"

"In shock?" Armand supplied. James nodded again, smiling abashedly.

James was more in shock from the kindness Armand, and his country, had shown him. James was positive that no matter what he did, there was no way he would ever be able to repay them.

"Well then, congratulations," Armand said with a grin. "I will inform my cousin of your acceptance and we will set a date for your promotion according to his response."

"And…about the house?" James asked, still unsure of where he sat in the area of funds.

Armand waved a hand again. "My cousin has written consent for an allowance for you to purchase the necessary things, which i believe, includes a home."

"And I have enough?" James asked again, raising his eyebrows, ignoring that propriety dictated this type of talk about money a very taboo subject. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of his trainees salute him. He acknowledge the young man with a curt nod, the turned his attention back to Armand at his side.

Armand smiled again, "Would I have allowed you to get your heart set on it so if you hadn't?"

James let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "I don't know what to say, Armand," he said honestly, looking at his friend sincerely.

"Say 'Thank you', James, and that will be enough," Armand said, clasping James on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Armand. A thousand times over," James returned seriously. He noted the soft look in Armand's eyes and smiled.

"If I had known you were going to be so serious," Armand quipped as the reached the armory doors, "I'd have asked for something more exciting, like your soul, or maybe your first born."

Armand helped James describe the type of sword he wanted to the blacksmith, who seemed more than honored to be crafting James' weapon. Armand translated for him and laughed as the blacksmith told James that his Spanish steel would "put all the twiggy English swords to shame." The blacksmith, who's name James learned was Camillo, was an old family friend of Armand's, and Armand announced James' promotion to him , though Camillo was sworn to secrecy until it was made official.

Camillo smiled warmly at James and then told him, through Armand, that Spain was lucky to count him among Her ranks. James accepted the compliment gracefully and humbly, which seemed to please Camillo even more. He then gave James an ornately carved dagger which he refused to accept payment for, try as James might. Armand and Camillo only laughed at him and Camillo, a large and imposing man, told him to simply shut up and be grateful, which James immediately did.

He promised James a sword unlike any other as he and Armand left, and James couldn't deny that he was somewhat excited. He had seen Camillo's work, used a few of his weapons, and James had no trouble admitting that the quality of his steel far surpassed that of Will Turners—and Turner had been very, very good.

James had been questioning Armand about his new duties, if he would soon receive a ship and crew—yes to both questions, and when asked who his crew would be, Armand replied that it would be his new cadets with a few veterans as well—and how soon he would be able to assume his position, when the pair passed a large, flowering bush, the likes of which James had never seen. The flowers were purple in color with flecks of white on the petals, surrounded by lush green leaves. James held out a hand for Armand to stop and he strode over to the bush and drew out his newly acquired dagger.

"Will I get in trouble for cutting these?" he asked Armand, jerking his head at the handful of flowers he'd grabbed, the blade at their stems.

Armand shrugged, "Since I'm the governor and I say you can, I see no problem." His eyes twinkled as James quickly cut and collected the flowers. He began arranging them into a makeshift bouquet as the pair continued along, adding other plants as he saw fit. Armand smiled broadly. "Those wouldn't be for Vitalia, would they?" he asked, grinning as James jumped slightly.

"They are," he admitted. There was no use lying to Armand, and James detested lying anyways. "Do you think she will like them?" he asked, smiling slightly.

Armand laughed. "I believe so." He turned and looked at James full on, raising his eyebrows. "James Norrington, are you courting my niece?"

James was silent for a moment, then finally, he smiled widely. "Yes—I believe I am."

* * *

That was fun. I know it took a long time, but I really like how this chapter came out. Though lately I feel like I haven't been writing James very well...please let me know if I'm not!!! 

As always, **please **review, **_especially_** if you add this story to your favorites or alerts!

-Elle


	13. Chapter 13

Ta-da! Here is the thirteenth installment of 'Breaking the Surface', the last chapter before the big climax begins. I know _I'm_ excited. Fourteen is either going to take a long time due to it's importance or a short amount of time because I am so excited for it. Also, I want to get this done... I love the story and it's characters, but I have other stuff in the works that I'm not letting myself work on till this is done. I kind of want to try my hand at writing an Avon-type Regency England romance...I admit they are my guilty pleasure. I am a huge fan of Julia Quinn. I mean, I know whats going to happen by page 3, but they are still so much fun. It's a formula, but damn does it WORK.

Anyways, here is chapter thirteen!!!

* * *

Vitalia and Adela arrived back at the manse nearly half an hour before James and Armand returned, and Vitalia reflected on the slightly disappointing visit to the modiste she had just been through as she stood before the still half-finished portrait of James, brush and pallet in hand. 

She had picked the design for the gown nearly a month before, selecting an elegant pattern with a wide neckline and delicately layered skirt. She'd chosen a deep blue silk as the base color, and gossamer lavender to go over the blue of the skirt. All in all, she had been content with her choice. After the visit today though, what was supposed to be the final fitting, she couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed. The dress was indeed beautiful, but she now felt that it wasn't quite striking enough—she wanted to be radiant at James' side.

Positive her disappointment had shown in her face, Vitalia felt guilty. She knew her Aunt and Uncle had paid a decent sum for the gown, and she was sure Adela had noticed the lack of her usual enthusiasm. Adela, however, had said nothing, just looked at Vitalia with her shrewd eyes and a secret smile. Vitalia knew her aunt knew of her own feelings, her desire to be the most magnificent woman in the room while on James' arm, despite the fact that Adela spoke nothing on the subject.

Vitalia had learned long ago, however, that her aunt always seemed to know exactly what everyone was thinking.

Adela and Vitalia left the shop after Adela had had a private word with the dressmaker, most likely about her own gown, and then the pair had trekked back up the beaten path to their home. Vitalia had resisted the urge to peer back over her shoulder to the shipyard, where she knew James and her uncle were.

She touched the wooden end of the brush she held to her cheek as she cocked her head at the portrait before adding light strokes of color. She knew she had no reason to be disappointed, but she truly could not help it.

Shaking her head, determined to stop dwelling on the gown and her ridiculous feeling of disappointment, she focused herself wholly on the canvas before her. She had finally managed to set the lines in James' face the way she'd wanted, mirroring the quiet determination and gentleness she'd seen in his real face the night before, and earlier that day while they examined the house that would, most likely, soon be his.

Vitalia smiled to herself as she added small bits of white to his eyes, attempting to bring out the light that shone in the dark pools. She was trying to determine when, after she had finished the painting, she would make a gift of it to him. Part of her wanted to do it as soon as possible, the painting was slowly becoming something she was very proud of, while another part of her reasoned that thrusting the painting at him would startle him and make him think that she was infatuated with him.

Which, of course, she was.

_Completely_.

She wondered if she simply showed the painting to him, even before it was finished, if it would cause him alarm (though she hoped that her feelings for him would not cause him alarm). She pondered the situation a little bit more, then decided that she would physically give it to him once he had moved into his new home, a housewarming gift of sorts. But she also decided that she wouldn't be opposed to showing it to him before him.

She would simply wait for the right moment.

---

James prowled the hallways of Armand's manor determinedly, the bouquet he'd created on his way back from the docks in his hand. He and Armand had parted ways at the door, Armand heading upstairs for, what he said was, a much needed nap, and James to find Vitalia. Sticking his head into the parlor where they all usually sat, James was dejected to find it empty. He'd checked all other rooms and, for the life of him, could not find the captivating young Spaniard. Stepping in from the doorway and into the room with his hands on his hips, the bouquet brushing his thigh, James couldn't help pouting.

He knew it was strange—and not at all proper—for him to be courting Vitalia while he still lived in the same household, but he had taken a firm stance on that matter: he didn't really care. While his feelings for her were not yet set in stone, while he couldn't confidently identify them, he knew that they were not to be ignored.

The spark that coursed through his body when he and Vitalia touched, whether through dancing together, walking together, or even just the accidental brush when they passed each other in the house, or the way they could talk or just sit in comfortable, companionable silence told him well enough. He didn't want to name the feeling yet, didn't want to rush or force the actions that would follow such feelings…right now, he just wanted to _feel_ them.

With a final glance around the empty room, James turned on his heel and made to walk back down the hallway, only to have Vitalia crash into his chest.

"James!" she exclaimed at the same moment her own name burst from his lips.

James reached out to steady her, still with the flowers in his hands. The bouquet, quite large, brushed against her cheek. It took her a moment to realize what the soft, silk on her skin was, and then she began to laugh.

James blinked and began to chuckle, releasing her and attempting to re-arrange the blooms. "These," he held out the bouquet, smiling wryly and blushing slightly, "are for you. I'd hoped to give them to you in a more conventional manner, but…" he trailed off and Vitalia could tell he was embarrassed.

"I liked this manner of delivery just fine," she said and flashed him a dazzling smile. She reached up and gripped the stems just below James' own hand, smiling inwardly as he started slightly when her fingers brushed his.

"I'm glad," James said as he released the flowers, his fingers still tingling. "How was the modiste?" he asked as Vitalia bent her head down to the flowers and inhaled deeply.

Vitalia smiled, though not as broadly as she should have. James noticed this and raised an eyebrow. "It went very well," she said, " the dress fits, and is very nice."

"Only very nice?" James asked lightly. While he didn't have a lot of experience with women and dresses, he rather thought she would have been more excited about the gown she would wear to the Governors Ball.

Vitalia blushed slightly, embarrassed. She found it hard to lie to the kind and earnest man beside her. "I was a little disappointed."

"Disappointed?" James sounded surprised. "Why?"

She bent her head once more into the bouquet, trying to hide her growing blush. What did she tell him, that she wanted to be the most beautiful woman in the room while on his arm? That she wanted to make sure his attention never left her? "The dress was not exactly as I imagined it…" she murmured.

James looked at her, cocking his head slightly. He couldn't quite fathom what would be wrong with the dress, but surely she had to know he didn't really care what she wore…she could show up in an old potato sack and he would still want her on his arm.

"Vitalia…" he said, searching for the words, running a callused hand through his hair. "If it's any consolation," he said after another moment of silence as he finally settled on the right words, "I am positive you will look amazing, no matter what you wear."

Vitalia couldn't help smiling at him. "But you haven't even seen the gown," she said, somewhat lamely. She couldn't believe how happy James' words made her…or rather, she could, but she tried not to let her excitement show.

James grinned at her in a manner she could only describe as roguish. "Exactly," he said in a tone that told her she had proven his point.

Vitalia looked up at him through her lashes, her nose still buried in the bouquet. He looked adorable, standing next to her with his mischievous smile and bright eyes, and she couldn't help but giggle in an entirely uncharacteristic manner.

James raised an eyebrow. He'd dealt with giggling females before, and he never really thought Vitalia would be among them. "Are you alright?" he asked wryly as she attempted to stop her giggle with what sounded like a choked laugh.

"Splendid," she said, lowering the flowers from her face.

"What, may I enquire, prompted your giggling?"

Vitalia looked into his eyes then. The twinkling light in them told her that he was flirting with her. Her smile widened and her eyes took on a devilish glint of their own.

Two could play at that game. _Easily_.

"Now I don't really think that's an appropriate topic for discussion, Mr. Norrington," she said coyly.

James started for a moment, not expecting such a thing from Vitalia, but he recovered quickly and re-applied his rakish grin. "Maybe someday you'll enlighten me?" he asked raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"If you're lucky," was the pert response.

James' grin widened. "Well then, I guess I will just have to look forward to that day."

James did not add that he hoped that day would come soon and he soon found himself imagining a variety of situations, including one that involved himself, Vitalia, a lot of rose petals, and a very large bed.

Vitalia smiled at him, clearly thinking _somewhere_ along the same lines as James was, and then turned her attention to the blooms in her hand. "I should probably put these in water," she announced, then turned and made her way to the kitchens, leaving James in her wake with his rakish grin and decidedly inappropriate thoughts.

---

"And who gave you these?"

Vitalia managed a demure smile at Basilio as he stood before her in parlor the next day. Her aunt was out of the balcony that joined the sitting room and Armand's study, and Armand had accompanied James down to city hall to purchase the deeds for the large white, beach-side house.

"James," she said, still with her tame smile, even though a wide, bubbly grin was fighting to get through. It occurred to her she should be calling him by his last name, but it was too late to correct her _faux pas_.

Basilio smiled his small, cocky smile. "James?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. His tone was one of mock indignation and teasing. "I didn't realize you two were so close."

Vitalia swatted at him, hitting his arm, but did not respond to his open taunt.

Basilio took notice of her lack of response and the grin fell from his face. He couldn't quite believe it; he was losing Vitalia, and quickly, to a washed up—_literally_—Englishman. For a man used to getting what wanted, this was entirely new territory for Basilio.

"They are very nice," he said after an awkward moment of silence, fingering one of the petals with a small amount of distaste. He had images of himself presenting her with larger, more colorful bouquets. Saw her reactions, ones of joy and coy glances.

The thought that James was the man to be on the receiving end of the very things Basilio was imagining.

"They are," Vitalia agreed, a wistful smile on her face.

"And where is our good Englishman?" Basilio asked, rather unable to keep the distaste from his voice.

Vitalia glanced at him, eyebrows drawn slightly. "City Hall," she said, seating herself on the chaise as Basilio took a spot on the chair beside her, "purchasing the deed for his new house."

_His new house_...

Basilio loathed admitting that James had been given a place in society…a place that would give him ample opportunity to continue courting Vitalia. Basilio liked James; he was a man who commanded as well as earned respect, he was intelligent and talented…but he also had feelings for Vitalia. Basilio knew he would like James a lot more if he had no interest what-so-ever in the young woman at his side.

"When does he think he will move in?" Basilio asked. He would feel much better about the situation once James was out of Armand's mansion and into his own house.

"Sometime after the Governor's Ball," Vitalia supplied, and a wistful look appeared in her eyes once more.

Basilio resisted the urge to groan. How could he have forgotten about that…the crowded ballroom, the hush that had passed through the guests, the sight of James knelt over Vitalia's gloved hand…

"Where is the house?" he asked in an attempt to remain polite as well as to get his mind off the night of Adela's dinner party days before.

"On the back road," Vitalia supplied and waved in the general direction, "Number eighteen, I believe."

Basilio couldn't help looking impressed. The house that Vitalia had named was large, as well as on the beach. He wondered how much James was making now that he had been appointed a captain.

Another sore spot…

Basilio had been in the navy his whole life and had climbed the ranks himself, still only a lieutenant. He was a native Spaniard as well, with connections in both government and the navy. And then James Norrington, ex-British Royal Navy Commodore washes up onto Armand's beach and proves himself a good hand with a sword…

Basilio made a fist, both annoyed with the situation and with himself. He knew James was talented, knew he could and would lead sailors better than other captains he'd seen, but he also felt it was positively unfair. For one thing, how could everyone be so sure that James was not in fact a pirate masquerading as an old British seaman?

He nearly smacked himself. He had watched James closely and he was more than positive that he was not a pirate, though he was indeed familiar with swashbuckling. But, as a commodore, Basilio knew that James would have had to be more than a little familiar with the style.

"He will like it there," Basilio said after he had stopped arguing and reasoning with himself. Vitalia did not need to know about his own inner struggles. He was sure she had enough on her mind, a thought that was confirmed as her gaze drifted to bouquet and a small smile spread across her face.

More than not being able to get what he wanted, Basilio was experiencing a completely new sensation, one he already knew he was not fond of: Jealousy.

Vitalia watched Basilio fight with himself, holding her tongue to keep from questioning her friend. His eyes remained clouded for most of his visit, which was pleasant, albeit slightly abnormal. Basilio returned to something resembling normalcy after Adela had joined them, but Vitalia could tell he was still stuck on _something_. She pointed this out to her aunt after she had seen him out.

Adela raised her eyebrows at her niece as if to ask 'Are you serious?'

Vitalia assured her she was.

Adela sighed. "Think about what has happened in the past few days, Vitalia. Regarding you. As well as James," she added.

Vitalia blinked. "You don't really think that—he's jealous?" she asked.

"I think that is exactly it."

Vitalia bit her lip. She hadn't taken her aunt and uncle's teasing about Basilio seriously, brushing he attentions off as simply friendly, but it appeared they were all too right.

"My dear," Adela said to Vitalia after she had voiced her thoughts, "when will you learn that I am always right?"

"Apparently now," Vitalia said with a sigh, then looked sharp again. "Then—you don't think you're right about _James_ as well, do you?" Her eyebrows were raised, high above her chocolate eyes.

Adela smiled rather mischievously as she rose to leave the room. "Oh I think I am quite right in matters regarding Mister Norrington," she said over her shoulder, arching a brow and smiling.

She swept out of the room then, hollering for the housekeeper, leaving Vitalia alone with her thoughts…

Thoughts that were now _explicitly_ focused on her situation with the aforementioned Englishman.

* * *

This was mostly filler, but there was some setting-up done. And I wanted to make James and Vitalia flirt a little bit. And Adela...I love her. I also love Basilio. He may be the antagonist, but he's not _bad_. 

I fly back out to Boston on Wednesday, so don't expect an update until past then at LEAST. Moving in is going to suck...but I am so ready to go back to school. Like WHOA.

As always, PLEASE review, especially if you favorite this fic or put an alert on it...or if you just want to be nice and let me know what you think!!!

-Elle R-M


	14. Chapter 14

I truly hope this chapter was worth the wait. My move back into Boston went rather smoothly and classes have gone well so far. Obviously I have less time to write (and I really should have been in bed an hour ago) but I was working on this chapter this evening and just decided I would finish it tonight. I apologize for the wait, and for the errors that are surely in this first posting. I will go through the chapter later this week, but for now please forgive any errors.

Without further ado, here is chapter 14, where things get awfully complicated.

* * *

The next few days passed comfortably for James as he began to outfit his new home. Adela had given him a set of sitting room furniture that, until it had been replaced the year before, sat in her own parlor. She assured him nothing was wrong with it, only that she had wanted a change in her own home. James took the offered furniture gratefully. Vitalia aided him in picking out fabrics and furniture for the other rooms, as well as wall coverings and paint. The bedrooms were, for the most part, fully furnished, with only the mattress in the master suite in need of replacement. All in all, James was more than pleased. Day by day, through cleaning by a household staff Adela had selected and interviewed for him, the old white house was slowly becoming hospitable once more.

James, who had a firm belief that respect was best earned through work, spent much of his mornings in the house with his staff cleaning and fixing the occasional door hinge or window. He had developed a profound appreciation for the man Adela had hired as his butler, an older man named Juan-Diego with graying hair, staunch opinions, and a quick wit. He had wasted no time in telling James that he needed to settle down with a wife and not worry about the running of his household. James was more than positive the man had once been in the military, the way he seemed to have the house already running like clockwork and with such efficiency James was positively speechless.

Not for the first time in his life, James thought that butlers must have some sort of magical ability. The older man also acted as James' valet, mostly because James could handle himself quite well. Juan-Diego never failed to remind James that should he need assistance shaving or readying himself, all he had to do was ask. James had a feeling that Juan-Diego did not think James' beard was all too fashionable

The housekeeper Adela had hired was a middle-aged woman named Anna who was homely as she was stern. Like Juan-Diego, she had the maids in line and the house sparkling by the third day. James was happily surprised by his staff, who seemed to like him just as he liked them. There was a young maid who seemed to blush and stammer uncontrollably every time James tried to speak with her, but Anna told him to simply ignore her.

"You really mustn't blame her," she'd told him, rather matter-of-factly, "you are quite imposing. And dreadfully handsome in uniform," she added, waving at James' current state of dress.

James had thanked his housekeeper for her rather backhanded compliments, stammering a bit himself. He had some idea that women found him appealing, but never had they been afraid to speak to him as his young maid.

He hadn't yet moved into the house—his mattress still needed to arrive—but James hoped to begin living there a week or so after the Governors Ball, which was to occur in a matter of days.

As he stood on the balcony attached to his now-furnished sitting room, staring out at the white sand and blue sea before him, James smiled. It was not an expectant smile, not one of anticipation or one that spoke of flirtation, just a smile. A pure, blissful smile, the likes of which had not graced James Norrington's hard face for some time.

He was simply and utterly content, as he had been finding himself for some time now. Slowly, he was getting used to the feeling.

---

James made his way back to Armand's mansion a short while later, dismissing his staff for the day to do as they like. Anna and Juan-Diego went off together to interview a local cook, while the little maid went off the opposite way with her two other fellows.

Tossing an orange in one hand, James walked up the driveway and let himself in through the kitchen entrance. Slinking off to the side and out of the way of the kitchen staff, who were preparing the midday meal, and into the hallway.

He eventually found his way into the parlor where Adela was seated, reading peacefully. Armand was currently down at the city hall, so James was not surprised that he wasn't with his wife, but he asked of Vitalia's whereabouts after seating himself across from Adela.

She looked up at him and smiled. "Somewhere around here," she waved a hand lazily in the air. "How goes everything with the new home?"

James smiled and used his gifted dagger to begin peeling the citrus in his hands. "Wonderfully," he answered truthfully. "I can't express my thanks for your help with the staff, Juan-Diego and Anna are amazing."

Adela smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Anna kept house for one of my cousin's before he lost himself if gambling and Juan-Diego worked for my mother in her last years."

"Thank you," he said earnestly.

"Are you prepared for the ball?" she asked then, now sliding a silk marker between the open pages of her book and closing it softly, setting it in her lap.

James grinned. "Indeed, thanks to you. You picked out my outfit weeks ago, and I'm sure I'll be one of the best looking men there because of it."

Adela smiled. Then she opened her mouth and put a finger to her cheek and looked as if she'd just realized something. "What color are the pieces again?" she asked once more, apology in her tone.

James paused in bringing a slice of orange to his mouth. "Brown," he said and then drew his eyebrows together as he thought. He knew the other color was a silk light in color, but he couldn't put his finger on it…then he remembered: Vitalia holding the silk up and smoothing it with her fingers, her wistful expression. Unbeknownst to him, Adela watched the sparkle in his eyes and the curve of his lips as he remembered. "And that peach that Vitalia liked so much."

He looked back at Adela and found her grinning, though why he couldn't say. "Oh, that's right," she said, appearing as though she'd never really forgotten in the first place. "And you're escorting Vitalia?"

James set his orange down in his lap and raised an eyebrow. He was certain there was no way Adela had forgotten _that_. Her grin told him as much. "Yes," he answered her, eyebrow still raised, "I am."

"Good," she said, then regarded James with her shrewd eyes in a manner James couldn't place. She was silent for a moment, watching as James popped another slice of orange into his mouth. "James?" she asked as he finished chewing. He looked up at her, waiting for her to continue. "What are your intentions towards my niece?"

James was thankful that she'd waited for him to stop chewing because he was sure he would've choked.

His eyes wide, he coughed into his hand. "My intentions?" he asked, and she nodded. "Only the best, Adela, I assure you," he said, sounding a little more nervous than his usual calm and collected.

Adela said nothing for what felt like forever, watching James as he began to fidget under her eyes. Then she smiled and leaned over, resting her hand on his arm. "_Good_," she said again, then swiftly rose and departed then room.

James sat on the cushion, orange still in hand, his eyebrows drawn slightly and his mouth slightly open. He sighed after a moment and, popping the remaining orange slices into his mouth, went in search of Vitalia.

---

The morning of the Governor's Ball, Vitalia sat at her vanity and took deep breaths as she waited for her maid to cease the pulling, curling, and pinning of her hair. She felt like she'd been up for days, though she knew it was only around one in the afternoon, and she was desperate to save her energy for what she hoped would be a memorable night.

Despite the pain on her scalp, Vitalia smiled to herself—then quickly winced as her maid pulled hard on a handful of hair.

Tonight, James would be escorting her to the ball. She smiled again.

She couldn't quite find words to describe her excitement—though her feelings she was quite sure of. The past few days James had been nothing but attentive to her, seeking her out, asking her opinion on aspects pertaining to his new home, and even just sitting in a companionable silence with her as she sketched and he mapped out plans for his cadets. Part of her had been worried that when James was made a captain he would move on from the mansion quickly, but he did nothing of the sort. His days were slightly busier now, but he always seemed to have time for her.

Time not spent with James was spent with Adela and Isabella, both of whom seemed to have nothing better to do than tease her about the Englishman. Basilio would stop by every now and then, but he had been rather out of sorts the past few days, and wasn't as talkative as he usually was. Vitalia tried her best to make him smile, which she knew he appreciated when he'd quirk his lips in a small smile for her, but she couldn't cheer him up completely.

She shared this with her aunt and best friend and the two had exchanged rather knowing—and obnoxious, in Vitalia's opinion—glances and told her not to worry about it. So she didn't, or at least not as much as she usually would have. She spent her days helping with the last minute details of the ball, with James, and finishing the portrait of him.

She smiled again. She had finally finished the painting the day before, coating the entire canvas with a gloss that kept the paint fresh and made it shine in the light. She hadn't yet picked a date to give it to him, but she knew it would be soon, when he moved into his own house.

"I'm done, miss."

Vitalia jumped slightly and then smiled at her maid. "Thank you." She rose then and stretched her sore shoulders and looked around the room. "I think that will be all for now," she said with a smile and her maid quickly curtsied and left the room.

Turning, Vitalia scrutinized her reflection in the mirror on her vanity. Her hair was tightly curled and—looked—loosely pinned to her head in elegant bunches with curls dusting her collarbone. She had yet to add jewelry and ornaments to her hair, and her face was completely devoid of face paint and rouge. But, looking at herself, head held high and eyes alight with anticipation and excitement, she couldn't help thinking she looked beautiful.

A soft knock at her door broke her from her reverie. Turning, Vitalia watched her aunt enter the room, a large parcel in her arms.

"What's that?" Vitalia asked as she watched her aunt place the box on her bed.

Adela raised an amused eyebrow at her. "Your gown, of course."

Vitalia smiled slightly. "Oh—of course." She had rather forgotten the gown—beautiful though it was. She just didn't feel as radiant as she would have liked in it. Not to mention, she thought as she recalled what exactly James was wearing, they would clash quite wonderfully. Her heart sank a little bit more.

"_Preciosa_," Adela said, coming to stand by her niece's side, "what is the matter?"

Vitalia looked at her aunt and smile apologetically. "It's stupid," she said lamely. Adela gave her a look that said she didn't care. "James and I will clash," she said, motioning to the parcel on her bed.

Adela smiled slightly. "Are you sure?"

"My dress is blue and lavender."

"Blue and brown go together," Adela supplied.

"But blue and lavender and brown and peach?" she said, rather helplessly.

"Why don't we look at it again?" Adela said, stroking Vitalia's cheek gently.

Vitalia sighed then nodded.

"You do the honors," Adela said and stepped out of the way so Vitalia could open the parcel.

Vitalia took a breath and pulled the ribbon circling the box out of its tied bow and set it aside, then pulled the top half of the box off with slow hands. Setting the top down on the floor so that it leaned against her bed, Vitalia parted the tissue paper surrounding the gown.

She nearly gasped as a rich peach filled her eyes.

"What?" was all she managed to say as she looked from her aunt to the gown—the same gown she'd envisioned herself in when she had first picked up the fabric the day she had gone with James to the seamstress'.

Adela smiled widely at her and Vitalia immediately knew her aunt had been planning this for some time.

"Do you like it?" Adela asked as Vitalia drew the garment out of the box and held it up to herself in the mirror.

The style was similar to that of Vitalia's original gown, a sheer white in place of the gossamer lavender on the skirt, albeit with a different neckline and bodice.

"I love it!" Vitalia exclaimed, turning back to her aunt and smiling so widely her cheeks began to ache. "When? How?"

Adela raised a haughty eyebrow, "Since I saw you pick the silk up," she said rather matter-of-factly. "Why do you think I had James get the suit with the peach accents even when I said it was too pale for him?"

Vitalia shrugged. "But—how did you _know_?"

Adela did not need elaboration, but stated the obvious anyways. "How did I know you and James would come together?"

Vitalia nodded, still admiring the gown.

"It was obvious—to me, at least," she said with a grin, "from _very_ early on."

"I wish I had your talent for that," Vitalia said, turning away from the mirror and folding the gown delicately back into the box atop the paper. She looked at her aunt then, who was still smiling widely at her, and then crossed over to her and threw her arms around Adela's shoulders.

Adela returned the embrace, holding Vitalia to her with strength one wouldn't think a woman as slim and delicate as Adela would posses.

"Thank you," Vitalia said, nearly whispered.

"You're welcome, Vitalia," Adela said, releasing her and stepping back to admire her niece. She could only think it was just yesterday that Vitalia had come to live with her and Armand, an orphan who didn't yet know how to make sense of what had happened, and now she was standing before her, grown up and so clearly in love. "I will miss you, you know," she said softly.

Vitalia looked alarmed. "Where am I going?"

Adela smiled again. She knew she would never miss the way Vitalia seemed not to realize the most obvious. "When you get married and move away," she said softly.

Vitalia was silent for a moment, searching her aunt's eyes with her own, before she drew Adela back into a hug. "I will miss you too," she said.

The two women were silent for a moment then Adela said, with a smile on her face, "Hopefully he'll ask you."

Vitalia nearly groaned, both in anxiety and annoyance. Her aunt would never change.

---

James stared at himself, hard, in the mirror attached to his armoire.

He had just shaved, his face was smooth, his beard and moustache neatly trimmed. He'd had Juan-Diego trim his hair the day before (he'd had to keep the man's hands away from his beard), and it was pulled smartly back into a small tail at the nape of his neck. His shoes had been polished. His suit, jacket, shirt, vest, and cravat had been pressed. He had just taken a bath, his skin was clean and his cologne—a scent suggested and given to him by Armand—smelled quite nice.

Despite all his preparations, however, he was still very nervous, an emotion and feeling James was not at all very familiar with.

He had decided to get ready at his new home, both to keep his cool as well as to make his escorting Vitalia slightly more normal. What was he supposed to do if he was dressing at Armand's mansion—get ready, then meet her at the bottom of the stairs after he came down? Pick her up at her room? James scoffed as he began tucking in crème chemise to his dark breeches. That wouldn't do. He thought that arriving separately and escorting her from there would be _much_ more acceptable. And less of a weight on his nerves.

Up until recently, James wasn't all too sure he even possessed nerves—the type he was feeling now, at least. Never in his life had a person—a woman—made him so nervous. He began to do up the rest of the buttons on his shirt and smiled as he though of the woman who made him so nervous. To say he was excited about the evening would be an understatement.

He could not wait to have Vitalia on his arm, to see her walk down the stairs. His thoughts drifted to a few days before, when she had been worrying about her dress. He resisted the urge to chuckle. The thought of her looking anything but stunning bordered on ridiculous in James' mind.

He slid the peach vest on over his shoulders and deftly did up the buttons. He'd told Armand he'd arrive as soon as was acceptable which, according to the clock on James' mantle, was in twenty minutes. He'd decided to walk to Armand's house, it wasn't far and he didn't yet have a horse of his own. He enjoyed the fresh air; the smell of the ocean helped calm him. And now that he had nerves, he thought it was a very good idea.

---

James found himself in Armand's marble entryway nearly half an hour later. Guest had already begun to arrive, decked out in riches and finery. James had thought he'd looked rather plain, but he had a distinction that many of the guests could not boast. The day before, Armand, in front of his trainees, had presented James with a small broach with the Spanish Navy's insignia. The broach marked him as a captain, a small star beneath the insignia, and James took pride in wearing it. He adjusted the sleeves of his elegant and simple coat as he waited to shake hands and greet Armand and Adela.

Armand nearly rolled his eyes as James reached them. "Why didn't you just slip in through the back instead of standing in the God forsaken line?"

Adela attempted to hush her husband with an air of amusement, but Armand brushed her off.

"Despite the fact you seem to believe otherwise," James said with a grin and he took Adela's hand and bowed over it, "I take my duties seriously. And properly greeting a host and hostess is one of those duties."

Adela smiled. "We are glad you're here James. Armand was disgruntled that there was no one here to waste time with today."

"That I was," Armand replied swiftly, holding his hands behind his back. "I should've come over and made myself useful at your house." He still looked relatively annoyed.

James smiled. "In the next few days, you're more than welcome to."

"Good," Armand said rather stiffly. But then a smile broke through his face and his austere air was immediately broken. "Shall I have a maid fetch Vitalia?" he asked then, smiling in what James thought was a mix of amusement and cunning.

James quirked an eyebrow at Adela, but she just smiled and shrugged. "I'll find the maid, _you_ stay here and greet your guests," she told her husband then disappeared before he could protest.

Armand looked rather disgruntled. "I hate being the official host. Who wants to meet me anyways?"

James laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder then stepped off to the side so the rest of the guests could pay their respects. He moved himself farther into the entryway, into a small corner where he could see the stairwell clearly. His pulse began to quicken as he saw Adela nod at him as she resumed her place at Armand's side. Vitalia would soon be walking down those stairs.

James waited for what seemed like forever until finally a rippling of silk at the top of the stairs caught his eye. As if in slow motion, Vitalia came into view and down the stairs, and James Norrington's breath caught in his throat.

Vitalia looked like a goddess, bathed in the same peach silk of his vest, something he would later put together as Adela's work, but at the moment he was too immersed in the beauty that was heading towards him.

The gown was not as wide as most court gowns, but slim and elegant with capped sleeves and a flowing skirt that fell perfectly from the swell of her hips. Embroidery dusted the bodice along with what James thought were diamonds or something very similar. Vitalia's hair was curled and framed her face, what looked like silver thread woven through her elegant up-do, and one curled lock rested almost teasingly along her exposed collarbone, subtly drawing James' attention to the swell of her bosom. She wore no jewelry save for a small pair of diamonds in her ears. And she looked positively radiant.

Her eyes were on James as she came down the steps, a small almost nervous smile on her lips. James remembered to breath again once she had touched her slippered feet to the floor before him. Before he could stop himself he smiled broadly.

"You look amazing," he said, almost whispered as he took her hand and bowed over it, kissing the top of her gloved hand.

"Thank you," she replied almost uncertainly as he righted himself, dipping into a curtsey. "So do you," she said with a grin.

James smiled and held out his arm. "I assume you don't need to greet your aunt and uncle?"

Vitalia laughed. "I think Armand would kill me."

"He nearly did me," James admitted as he slowly led Vitalia through the now crowded entryway. Armand and Adela both nodded at the pair as they passed. Both were positively beaming at them.

"You waited in line?" Vitalia laughed again. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

James faked annoyance as he steered her toward the same gallery that he and Armand had sparred in many-a-time before. It was now alight with elaborate candle-fixtures and tables of refreshments. A band, larger than the one that had been at Adela's party, was situated in a corner that usually held a rack of fencing swords. The ballroom was nearly half full and couples had begun dancing.

James had made it his duty to learn more of the Spanish dances before the ball, something he had not shared with Vitalia. Adela had been giving him lessons at his home the past week and he was more than eager to surprise Vitalia. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she watched the couples twirl around the marble floor.

He smiled and leaned in closer to her. "Would you like to dance?"

She glanced at him, smiling slightly. "I thought you didn't know any of our dances," she said.

James raised an eyebrow. "I _didn't_," he said, grinning, "Something I remedied since the last party."

Vitalia could not keep the happy smile off her face. "I would love to."

"Good," James said with a genuine smile, and with that, led her out into the throng of couples. Vitalia settled her hand on his shoulder, secretly enjoying the closeness that the dance would allow them and the feel of James' muscles shoulder under her gloved hands. James placed his hand lightly on her waist, just before the flare of her hips, and then the pair began what was the first dance of many in an evening that James was sure to never forget.

---

Hours later, James was more than positive that indeed, he would never forget the evening. He sat now, not in a chair on the side of the ballroom or even in one of the private parlor's in Armand's manse, but it his own study, nearly empty of furniture save an old desk and equally old chair. The doors to the balcony that wrapped around his home were thrown open, a rather harsh sea breeze passing through them. An open bottle of brandy sat on his desk and James clutched a snifter in on hand, its contents half gone. He was now more than positive that he had the worst luck with the opposite sex than anyone in the world. Don Juan was rolling in his grave with laughter at him.

He was still dressed in his evening clothes, though his cravat had been loosened in a rush and it was pulled awkwardly to one side. He had his booted feet on to the top of his desk and he glared at the darkness as he took a deep drink from the glass in hand. Reluctantly, James relived what was supposed to have been a magical evening.

He and Vitalia had danced two danced before Adela and Armand had joined the party. He and Vitalia had joined them on the far side of the ballroom, conversing contentedly with one another. Basilio had joined them at one point, ever polite with his customary glass of wine in hand, and James even enjoyed the Spaniards' company. Isabella also joined the group, looking stunning in a gown of deep red that caused more eyes to stray towards her than half the women in the room put together. Still, James had eyes only for the woman at his side.

Vitalia was always close by him, if she wasn't in his arms dancing, she was on his arm at his side, the subtle pressure of her hand on his arm a constant reminder of her presence. And the way her presence made him feel.

James felt as if he was walking on air. Never could he remember being so completely happy. It was soon after he and Vitalia had rejoined the crowd of dancing couples, that he realized it.

He loved her.

He loved everything about her. He loved her voice, her handwriting, her eyes, her subtle and quick wit. He adored the way she's raise her eyebrows at him, the way her laugh seemed to float in the air after it left her lips. He couldn't get enough of her. It was then, when she was smiling in his arms as he whirled her around the dance floor that he realized that he loved her, and he wanted her by his side. Always.

James couldn't explain the rush of emotion he'd felt, but he was sure of one thing: that he needed the wonderful young woman before him to be his, and only his, for the rest of his days. And it was then that he decided to tell her.

Not, however, in the middle of a packed ballroom. While James was not a hopeless romantic, he did have enough common sense to know that any young woman would not want to have such a think blurted out in front of hundreds of others. And seeing as he'd already caused a scene by asking her to the ball at the _last_ ball, he thought he owed her some privacy.

"Vitalia," he said as the dance ended. "I need to speak with you."

His serious tone alerted her somewhat and she looked at him questioningly.

"Nothing is wrong," he assured her with a smile, and squeezed her hand, which he was still holding, gently in reassurance.

She looked at him for a moment, and then smiled. "I have something to show you," she said.

James cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked despite himself.

She laughed, "Yes really." She glanced around the room. James knew it was highly improper for them to leave the ballroom and speak alone, but he was determined to do so anyways. Apparently, Vitalia was just as determined to show him whatever it was she wanted to show him.

Armand and Adela were currently caught up in a large group of diplomats and politicians from around the Spanish empire, and the rest of the ball was immersed so fully in the festivities that they were sure not to notice the disappearance of one couple.

Vitalia turned back to him, her eyes alight. "I will meet you in five minutes, in my studio?" she asked, then added in response to James raised eyebrows, "It will be less obvious if we sneak away separately."

"Have you done much sneaking?" James couldn't help himself asking.

Vitalia swatted his arm. "No I haven't. Five minutes?" she asked, and James nodded.

The brilliant smile she flashed him then, as she turned on her heel and headed for a doorway, was a smile James could still feel deep in his heart. A heart that was now thoroughly torn.

He had waited his five minutes before heading out of the same door. He expertly wove through the crowd, nodding to those whom he'd come to know, spotting a few of his cadets here and there before he finally crossed the threshold into the deserted hallway.

It was lit, dimly, by a lamp on the wall and James looked both ways before he silently padded down to the door of Vitalia's studio.

He took a deep breath then, straightening himself and adjusting the sleeves of his coat.

Never before had he confessed his love to a woman. He had told Elizabeth he cared about her, but never had he gone outright and told her he loved her. Which, he thought now, was a good thing because while he had cared about her, he certainly had not loved her—at least not in the way he loved the woman who was through the door before him.

His newly acquired nerves were on fire, his heart was in his throat. His hands, now at his sides, were beginning to shake.

Slowly, taking a calming breath, James turned the handle on the door and pushed it open. What he saw before his eyes tore his thumping heart from his chest.

Vitalia stood in the center of the room, lit by the oil lamps, a covered canvas behind her, and in front of her stood Basilio. In front of her was not the correct term, James thought bitterly as he tossed the remains of the brandy in his glass back, reaching for the bottle and refilling it.

Basilio stood, holding Vitalia to his chest, tilting her head towards him with one hand, and his lips firmly on top of hers.

James began shaking with anger once more.

The pair had broken apart once James had opened the door, but he had seen all he'd needed to see.

Vitalia looked stricken, one hand covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide. Basilio's own chocolate eyes were glazed, with what James could not say, but he looked, if possible, more surprised.

It took James a full five seconds before he could find words. "This," he croaked, "_This_ is what you wanted to show me?"

"James!" Vitalia cried out, her voice catching in her throat, but James had already turned and was halfway down the hallway.

He literally had no words. He'd left Armand's mansion, ignoring that propriety bade him to say farewell to his hosts; he'd have to apologize later. Right then, all he could do was carry himself as far away from Vitalia and Basilio as he could before he lost his temper—which would surely result in his punching Basilio…or worse.

James had never had his heart broken before, and he rather thought he'd prefer being back in the clammy rowboat, on his way to the afterlife. Never had he felt so much pain.

The pain of loss, or betrayal…it was too much for him bear. He had never once thought that Basilio and Vitalia had an understanding. He knew, certainly, that Basilio liked her, but he had never gotten the impression that Vitalia truly returned the feelings. She had always been very open with him, allowing him to hug her in public and such, but never had James thought that she'd felt the same.

He felt like an idiot.

He was amazed at her cruelty, allowing him to walk in on her and Basilio; while he was surprised ant outraged at the happenings in general, he was surprised that she possessed such a mean streak. He'd never detected it.

But, seeing as how he'd completely missed that she and Basilio were a couple, albeit a secret one, for he was sure her family did not know, he figured he shouldn't be that surprised. He had been fooled, tricked worse than he'd ever been tricked in his life.

A knock broke James from his angry reverie and Juan-Diego strode in, a letter in his hands. Juan-Diego had asked his master no questions when he'd stormed in early from the party, and only raised his brows slightly when James asked for a bottle of brandy and a single glass.

James watched rather warily as his butler approached, holding the letter out to him. He knew where it was from, and from whom; he'd know the elegant script anywhere.

"A letter for you, sir," Juan-Diego said.

"I can see that," James said with no emotion what so ever in his voice. "Please burn it."

Juan-Diego looked aghast. "I most certainly will not. It is you duty to read this correspondence, sir, I will not aid you in shirking it."

James looked at his stubborn servant before he nodded gruffly. Juan-Diego handed him the letter, then left the room. James watched him go then looked at the envelope in his hand. Vitalia's handwriting jumped at him from the envelope.

'_James_' was all it said, and it looked as though it had been written in a hurry.

James glared at the envelope, the opened a drawer in his desk and threw the letter in with the deeds to the house. After slamming the drawer shut, James took another hearty swig from his glass of brandy.

Moments later, Juan-Diego re-entered the study, another envelope in his hands.

"Not another one," James muttered.

"This isn't from Miss Marinella," Juan-Diego informed him, his voice almost rushed. James vaguely wondered how Juan-Diego has known the first piece of correspondence was from Vitalia, but the urgency in his butlers voice stopped him.

"Who is it from," James asked, rather perplexed.

"The shipyard," Juan-Diego said, handing James the letter, which he realized now was already opened. He ignored this as well; he trusted Juan-Diego's judgment. "You are to report, with your crew, to the docks in half an hour. There's been a large attack on three vessels not far from the island."

"Pirates?" James asked, hoping that his excitement and hope did not come through his voice.

"Yes," Juan-Diego answered.

"Wonderful," James said and stood quickly, dropping his glass to the desk, sloshing brandy over the side, and made for his room to change into his uniform and grab his necessary items.

He was quite sure there was nothing like a pirate attack and chase to work out his anger and get his mind off of the turn of events that had occurred that evening.

* * *

...Well? I'm sure a lot of people are very upset with Vitalia right now, and probably want to kick Basilio's ass...or crawl in bed with James and give him a hug. I know I do.

As I said before, I apologize for any errors, I will re-edit this hardcore later this week, but for now, just make like you didn't see any :D

In chapter 15 you can look forward to: both sides of the story, some sword fighting, lots of remorse, shipwrecks, and a cameo by someone we all know and love.

As always, please review, **ESPECIALLY** if you favorite or alert this story!!!

-Elle R-M.


	15. Chapter 15

I bet you all forgot about this story. Not that I blame you. It's been...I don't even want to count how long since I last updated. I'm hoping you'll excuse me. College is work. And with organic chem, calculus, third semester Spanish and social psychology...well you can just imagine how much free time I have.

Curse of The Black Pearl was on USA the other day and I promised myself that once I finished my pre-lab write up for the week I would work on this chapter. And I did. In fact, I worked on it so much that it's done!

I still feel like parts of it are awkward, but I felt like I owed it to all the people who reviewed and favorited this story to just get the chapter OUT.

Right now I'm thinking this will be two more chapters and maybe an epilogue. I can't tell you when they'll be up though, maybe not till December. I have more midterms coming up in the next few weeks and then finals. So, forgive me. But please, read and enjoy this chapter!!!!

Without further ado, here is the fifteenth installment of Breaking The Surface.

* * *

It was midday, yet the sky was nearly black. A heavy rain was pounding the glass; a steady, rhythmic tapping that filled the silence of the parlor. Vitalia sat on the window seat, her head resting on the wall, her nose almost up against the windowpane. It had been raining for three days straight now, a heavy torrential downpour that fit her mood perfectly. 

Regretful and melancholy.

Vitalia still couldn't believe it. She still couldn't fathom that what had happened_ actually_ happened. The excitement she felt on leaving the ballroom for her studio, the magical feel of the entire night, James' strong figure at her side... Then Basilio's actions, her words, and James' face.

It made her heart break over and over again.

Her memories were vivid— so clear that she felt like she was constantly reliving the events.

She had left the ballroom in a hurry, weaving in and out through the crowd, a broad smile on her face. She was ready to show James the portrait and more—she was going to tell him she loved him.

She didn't know why it was so important to tell him now, at that very moment, it just felt right to her. And, from the urgency James expressed in wishing to speak to her, and the light in his eyes when he asked her to be alone gave her the impression that her news would be well received, and very possibly reciprocated.

Basilio had caught her eye as she slipped through the door and she smiled at him, then dipped into the hallway and down into her studio.

She quickly lit a small lamp and waited. Her nerves were on fire, her heart was pounding.

She heard the door open, then close.

She couldn't turn around; her heart was in her throat.

She just waited.

A strong hand gripped her shoulder and slowly spun her around.

What met her eyes made her gasp.

Basilio stood before her, his eyes shining with what she didn't know. Before she could speak, before she could protest, Basilio was crushing his lips to hers. Try as she might, her strength was nothing compared to his and she could not detach herself from him.

That was when James had opened the door.

Basilio drew back as the light fell upon them and Vitalia's hand immediately flew to her mouth, her eyes wide.

"_This— _this_ is what you wanted to show me?"_

She had chased after him, blindly calling his name, leaving Basilio in her studio.

She didn't care about the spectacle she was making of herself, all that mattered was that James knew the truth—know that she had not kissed Basilio of her own will, know that she didn't want him to see anything but the portrait she'd painted of him, know that she loved _him_…

She made it as far as the front steps before she stopped; James was already well through and past the front gates.

She called his name again and again, but not once did he turn around.

Vitalia then took a deep breath and turned back into the mansion.

She spoke to no one as they stared at her in the foyer. She kept her head high, her eyes straight ahead, and slowly climbed the stairs to her room. Before she lost herself in her grief, she sat down at her desk and wrote a letter to James filled with so much emotion she wasn't sure if the paper could take the weight of her honest words. Then, after ringing for an errand boy to deliver the letter, Vitalia collapsed onto her bed and finally allowed herself to cry. Silent sobs eventually wracked her entire body and she'd felt as if all had been lost to her.

She hadn't wept since that night, for she felt as if she had used all the tears in her body, but her mood did not improve. Not that she was at all surprised. she had ruined all chances she had with the man she loved.

Since that night, since James had left to hunt pirates, she had spent her days at the windows or on the balcony, her eyes glued to the sea, searching for some sign of James, some sign that he would come back to her.

Part of her feared he wouldn't, that he'd just disappear, as she knew he had already done in his life once before.

Vitalia did not turn her head as the soft swish of silk skirts and slippers against the floor reached her ears. She did not move as she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she said nothing as her aunt gave her shoulder a slight squeeze and spoke.

"Vitalia? Are you hungry?"

Adela winced inwardly and then sighed very softly as her niece offered no response.

She did not know what exactly had happened with her niece, for she did not ask, but the gossip from the Governor's Ball provided her with enough information to draw conclusions and hypotheses. It was obvious that James and Vitalia had had a falling out. Adela had heard the stories and knew that Vitalia had chased after him as he stormed through the manse, calling his name, and she knew that James had kept walking.

Armand had announced James' departure from Palma de Mallorca to his wife the next day, informing her of the weather and pirate attacks. He'd glanced at her, concern in his dark eyes. "We should tell Vitalia," he'd said softly, "so she doesn't think he's left her."

Adela looked at him sadly. "But we don't know that, for sure."

Armand bit his bottom lip, a gesture he rarely ever made. "I'd like to think I know James. I don't think he'd run away," he said finally. His face was downcast, and it was obvious he was worried about both involved parties.

Vitalia didn't say anything when Adela told her James had been deployed. The only reason Adela knew that Vitalia had heard her was that she let out a soft, mournful sigh.

Adela hadn't seen her niece cry, not since the night of the ball, nor had she seen her eat a full meal since then. Vitalia was getting paler as the days went by, acquiring an air if frailty that she'd never had before. Both Adela and Armand were starting to worry.

"Dearest," Adela said, and she gently sat down beside her niece, cupping her face and turning her away from the window, "You must eat something."

Vitalia's eyes stared blankly back into her aunt's. "I'm not hungry, _Tía_," she said softly.

"I know," Adela said, and she drew Vitalia into her arms, "but you must eat anyway." She began to stroke the top of Vitalia's head, in much the same manner as she'd done when Vitalia was a small child.

Adela was aching to ask her niece what had happened, wanted to know if there was anything she could do for her, but Adela had her own experiences with love and knew better than to press for answers. All she could do was hold her broken niece and offer all the comfort she could.

---

It had begun storming the minute they'd left port, a light rain at first. Then the winds came, and then the waves. Soon the world around James was a mix of gale and water. Much, he thought, like his own, inner world.

He still clenched his fists whenever the memory crossed his mind—which was often—and his crew thought something was wrong from the pained look that appeared on his face.

Never, in all his life, did he think he'd be the victim of something so undeniably cruel.

There were the pirates, but that was a way of life for him. And he had to admit from his own stint in piracy, declaring yourself above the law did have its benefits…

He'd certainly had bad luck with Elizabeth, but at least she'd been relatively nice about it. And she hadn't given James the impression that she'd loved him—something Vitalia had done in the extreme. James thought himself a fool.

A fool who was forever destined to be scorned by women he had romantic feelings for and to chase after pirates.

It was well after midnight now, pitch black on the sea, save the silvery light that came from the full moon. They'd been sailing non-stop in an attempt to catch the pirate ship responsible for attacking a small number of merchant vessels near Palma de Mallorca. James and his crew were making good time, and they were indeed catching up to the group of pirates, but there had been little to no activity save the chase across the sea. Which sadly wasn't enough to keep the distraught captain distracted.

James sighed, more disgruntled than upset, and began to wish, for the thousandth time since they'd left Palma de Mallorca-- that _something_ would happen. A run in with the pirate ship they'd been tailing, maybe a damsel in distress…James snorted at the thought and dismissed it soon after.

Exactly what he did _not_ need—another woman in his life.

"Captain?"

James looked up from the maps that he'd been studying not-so-studiously on his desk and nodded to his first mate, Eduard, who stood at attention in the doorway of his cabin.

"Captain, we think we've found the ship, docked in an inlet maybe a mile or two ahead."

James stood at once, reaching for his overcoat and sword, a rather feral grin on his lips. "Finally." He crossed the room and lead the way out of his cabin and onto the deck, where his crew was scurrying about, preparing to take the ship. "Is it large?"

Eduard shook his head. "Maybe even smaller than this ship."

James grin widened even more. "Give the orders then," he said, "we'll take the boats out and surround them."

Eduard smiled. "Yes, sir."

James' smile weakened slightly as he watched his crew around the deck. He could only be distracted for so long before his mind eventually returned to Vitalia.

He recalled everything about her as if she stood before him: the color of her eyes, not quite brown with flecks of gold, the way her hair would curl around her neck, her reckless nature, he artistic flair, her subtle blushes, her smile…

James took a deep breath as he rose from the desk, holding his temples with one hand as the other grabbed his sword belt from its spot against the leg of the desk. With nimble fingers he belted the weapon to his waist and shrugged into an old overcoat he'd picked up on the way out of the Mallorcan port. His thoughts drifted back to the coats he'd has as commodore and admiral, rich navy with golden thread and expensive buttons…he rolled his eyes and grabbed the dagger he'd received from Camillo, the Navy blacksmith, shoving it into his belt.

He exited the captain's cabin and made he way out onto the deck, where his crew was quietly preparing for the ambush. Rolling up the sleeves of the old over coat and his own, dirty chemise, James lent his strength to the moving of rowboats and weapons, quietly giving further instructions to his crew. Despite the flurry of activity around him, his thoughts were still filled with Vitalia.

Once they had anchored themselves in a shallow niche and lowered the rowboats—six in total, each with five men in them—they began their silent approach. James led the way in the front-most boat, crouched down low to avoid the moonlight. The island the pirates had docked at was silent, almost eerily so, and a familiar prickling began to find it's way up James' spine. A rustle in the foliage sounded, and he held out his hand, immediately stopping his men and turned his head slightly. The whisper of leaves stopped after a moment, but he waited.

He listened, his senses honed and sharpened in a way that was only possible before battle. After a few, silent minutes, he lowered his hand and signaled onward. With all the determination he could muster, James pushed Vitalia's face from his mind and focused. Every quiet slash the oars made against the water, every whistle of the wind through the trees of the island, every labored, nervous breath of his crew, and the steady drumming of his own heart, is what James paid turned his attention to.

They made their way to the side of the darkened pirate ship, dropping small weights to anchor the rowboats on the side of the vessel. Taking his dagger from his belt and holding it between his teeth, James signaled for his crew to follow him.

The pirates' ship was made of dark wood, unpolished and grimy. They had, much like James, partially hidden their ship under the overhanging limbs of the island trees, shielding it from most.

With strong, callused hands and carefully placed footholds, James climbed his way to the deck of the ship. He peered over the rail, scanning the area for immediate threats—oddly enough, there were none. He narrowed his eyes, glancing up at the crow's nest and saw no shadows or legs, no sign of any life whatsoever. With a flick of his wrist, James signaled for the first boat to come aboard.

Nimble as James had been, the young men hopped over the rail and began following through with their plan. Eduard led the first boat across the deck, swords drawn, to the captain's cabin. They stopped, awaiting the orders from their captain. James looked down to the rest of the boats and nodded, jerking his head for them to join them. He'd switched his dagger for his pistol now, and had drawn his sword as well. Still an unfamiliar sword to James, the weight of it in his grip at such a crucial moment made it seem all the more like an old friend.

He waited till all the rowboats had emptied before he turned away and headed to the middle of the deck, his footfalls making no sound on the aged wood. He glanced over the men and he felt pride at their ready postures and determined faces.

Never before had he trained his own men in the intimate manner he had this crew of young Spaniards. He took only those who'd been willing to attack the ship; a good twenty or so remained back on their own vessel. He'd drilled his crew on what to do should the worst happen or should they get separated. Head back to their own ship and depart as quickly as possible. One man asked what to do if they lost a man and, with a sad smile, James told them the words he'd heard from the lips of Jack Sparrow many a time: "Any man who falls behind gets left behind."

They needed to worry about their own safety, he'd told them. The same young man asked what if it was James who fell. James was surprised and told him the same rules applied. As he'd left the men and returned to his cabin after than, James couldn't help smiling slightly. He felt that he would always feel rather smug that he had cheated death once.

Raising his sword, James made he way over to the entrance to the galley and captains quarters, every step measured and careful. He motioned for Eduard to step aside and prepared to kick down the door. He had one booted foot raised and ready when the same whispering he'd heard on the way over from his own ship reached his ears. He stooped his kick in mid air and turned.

The tree branches hanging over the pirate ship were swaying slightly, moving in all directions. James felt no wind on his face.

Suddenly his eyes widened and the seemingly abandoned ship made sense. Of course the crew had left to boat and headed to the safety of the island. They must have seen their own ship, he realized, and he thought of the crew he'd left. In a moment he spun and yelled, "Get back to the ship!"

At the same moment the pirates burst forth from the island foliage, swords waving and guns firing. The reaction was immediate. Those of James' crew closest to the side of the ship began descending to the row boats, quickly catching on to James' worry about their own vessel.

James ran into the fray, heading his own men as the pirates poured out of the trees. They were out numbered, without a doubt, but James didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting his crew back to safety—which meant as far away from the island as possible.

James blocked a rather vicious thrust from a short pirate as he crossed the deck, using the man's momentum against him and pushing him back into the throng of his comrades. A small number of pirates stumbled as their mate crashed into them, one toppling back over the rail of the ship.

James didn't hear the splash he made as he hit the water; he was too focused on the task at hand. Had he not been thinking only of his crew, he would have appreciated the fact that Vitalia was no longer in his minds eye. But he felt a tugging, somewhere near his heart, that told him he had to return to her—had to see her one last time.

"Return to the ship!" he yelled over his shoulder, catching a quick glimpse of his crew scrambling back into the boats. He shot blindly into the onslaught of pirates, steadily making his way back towards the boats and he stabbed and parried. He knew he'd felled three men so far, and he own men had done their work as well. Other bodies littered the deck as well, bodies that James was glad to see did not belong to any of his own men.

James ducked as a large man, no doubt the captain from his slightly richer appearance and large hat, came rushing towards him, swinging two large cutlasses madly at him.

"Captain!"

James heard Eduard calling to him as he slashed at the large captain, unsuccessfully avoiding the knife of another man. James winces as he felt a wound open on his left shoulder but tried his best to ignore it. He tossed his now spent pistol over the side of the ship, grabbing his dagger from his belt and feinted once with his sword, then slicing forward with the dagger.

He landed a blow on the captain's chest and bellowed down to his crew "_Sal_!"

There was no way they would make it back to the ship all in once piece. Already the pirates were preparing their own boats to follow.

"Captain!" A rather strangled cry, made of many voices sounded this time and James growled as he held the pirate captain's blade inches from his chest, reaching for him with his dagger and placing a swift kick to the man's groin at the same time.

"Go!" he yelled again. His mind was made up now. He was not going to allow his crew to perish unnecessarily if he could help it. He'd lived, he reasoned.

He'd seen the world from a variety of vantage points. He'd tasted unknown foods and liquors and encountered aromas that sometimes still haunted his best dreams. He'd had blatant adventure and unfounded mystery in his life. He'd laughed deeply and, he realized, he'd loved truly.

Everything that had happened with Vitalia suddenly burst forth from the recess of his mind. All of the laugher, the content silence they had often found themselves in. All of the smiles and jokes they'd shared. Every look she ever gave him, every smile that he knew was meant only for him… everything but the night of the ball, the night he'd been betrayed came to mind. James had loved, and now, he thought, he could die peacefully, fighting for his crew—for his love.

With renewed fervor, James lashed out, catching the pirate captain and two of the crew in one swing.

He could hear the oars of his crew leaving and he smiled, a feral, menacing smile. He raised his sword once more prepared to give it his all, when he was caught unprepared on his side.

The pain was immediate and intense. He could feel the blood blossoming on his side and his breath caught in his throat. He lost his balance, leaning back over the rail and with a strangled cry, toppled over the side of the ship and into the black water of the nighttime sea.

---

He could feel the steady rock of the ocean beneath him. The soft lap of wave against wood reached his ears and he let out a soft sigh before he even tried to open his eyes. He knew he was back in a wooden rowboat, on his way to the afterlife.

All around him was silence, save the rhythmic sound of the waves against his boat. He tried his best not to think. He did not regret his actions, not at all—in his mind, there was no better way for him to die, fighting for men he cared for and respected and, albeit indirectly for the woman he'd loved. The only things he regretted were that he never read the letter Vitalia had sent him, and that he'd never told her he loved her.

He sighed again and made to sit up—only to double back over in pain, his hands clenching his side wound.

Pain?

There had been no pain before.

His eyes shot open closed quickly, assaulted by sunlight.

He was not dead. He didn't know how it was possible, but he was still living. There had been no feeling before, and certainly no sunlight on the way to the realm of the dead.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He was determined to take it one step at a time. First, he would figure out where in the hell he was, then how he got there. Then, how to get back. With slow, measure movements, James attempted to lift his body into the sitting position once more, only to crumple down again, gritting his teeth and swearing blindly in pain.

"I wouldn't be doing that, if I were you," a voice sounded not to far from James, and his eyes shot open again. He blinked rapidly as he adjusted to the sun. That voice...

He _knew_ that voice.

It _couldn't_ be…it would just be too _cruel_.

Slowly, James adjusted to the sunlight. Slowly, he focused on the world around him. Slowly, a figure came into view.

And sure enough, James knew the silhouette. Knew it so well he could describe it down to the very last bead braided into his hair, every ring on his dirty fingers, and every annoying intonation he made when speaking.

Sure enough, Jack Sparrow swam into James' blurry vision.

James mouth fell slack for a moment. He wasn't dead, that he still couldn't believe. But what he couldn't fathom was the fact that he was now in a rowboat with a man he'd chased across the ocean.

The pain suddenly made sense to him, the ache in his heart…

"This must be hell," he said aloud, his voice completely devoid of any emotion.

* * *

I apologize for the bad-ness of the Vitalia section of this chapter. I had it all written at work a few weeks ago and then it didn't save, and I couldn't get the right flow back. Hopefully it still gets across what I wanted it too. And hopefully you all don't still hate her. 

In the next chapter, we will rejoin James and Jack in their cozy rowboat (I'm sure you're all wondering if James IS in hell, because we all know his hell would indeed feature Jack Sparrow), check up and Vitalia, and go guilt-tripping with Basillio. Who really needs to.

Please, please bear with me as I finish out the semester and, eventually, this story!

-Elle R-M

PS- And please review! I'd like to know if you lot are still out there :3


	16. Chapter 16

So, this was a _lonnnnnnnng_ time in coming. Sorry...I've been mad busy out here. And, I admit, my Bleach story has taken up some time as well. It just started flowing out one day and begged to be written. I forced my attention away from it, however, and finally finished this chapter!!! It's a bit on the short side, but hopefully it will keep you all going. I plan on finishing this story over break (WHICH STARTS IN 5 DAYS!!!! Only three finals then I'm back home to Minnesota for a month...!), which should make everyone happy. These last few parts are going to be hard to write though, saying goodbye is never fun. And I want everything to be perfect, so who knows how much editing that will be...

Forgive any errors or awkward sentences, I edited this pretty quickly. I'll catch the other stuff later...

Without further delay, enjoy!

* * *

James was sitting on the floor of the small boat, his back against the wooden seat, his arms spread out behind him. He had his head tilted back, staring up at the clear blue sky, a slight breeze ruffling his dark hair. He concentrated on ignoring the stinging pain that was still in his side. The wound he had received from the pirates was not healing as it should have been, and he was stuck in the middle of an ocean with a man he wasn't too fond of. Not for the first time in his life, James was sure he had the worst luck in the world.

Jack was sitting on the seat across from him, one leg draped over the edge of the boat, one dark, ring-covered hand on the ropes of the sail. James fought the urge to sigh as he raised his head and looked about. He and Jack had exchanged their pathetic rowboat for the equally pathetic sailboat a few days back, taking the boat in the middle of the night from a small fishing dock, as well as a small bucket of food and cloth they'd found in said sailboat. They'd left the rowboat docked where the boat they were now in had stood.

James had had no qualms about stealing the boat, though he knew he should have. He'd been a rather reckless pirate before, when he'd been run down and out of luck, and he found himself, again, in a very similar situation. He had no idea where exactly he was, and the only map Jack had with him was some strange, circular number with moving sections. James stayed far away from the bizarre map and instead spent most of his nights trying to read the stars and tend to his wound with the cloth they'd stolen. Jack told him they were near the Mediterranean, something James hoped very strongly was true.

He didn't want to start over—not _again_.

He wanted to get back to Palma de Mallorca, wanted to know if his crew had made it back safely, wanted to drill cadets in the Navy yard, wanted to finish furnishing his new home, wanted to see Armand and Adela…wanted to read the letter Vitalia had sent to him. Wanted to see her and try and make things right…

He and Jack rarely spoke as they crossed the sea, exchanging words only if something needed to be planned or they needed food or some manner of directional issue. James was content with the silence. Parts of him were dying to know what had happened at the end of the fight with Davy Jones, if Jack was still running from him. James knew Jack had been killed, but he never brought it up. He had come back from the dead; he felt no astonishment that Jack had as well. He had realized, with a wry smile, that if anyone he knew were going to return to the land of the living, it _would_ be the eccentric captain. James wondered if Jack knew he'd died as well, but he never broached the subject. James enjoyed the silence; it gave him time to think.

After four days of very little honest, human contact however, he was beginning to feel restless. He'd spent more than half his life at sea, but the days had always been spent on large ships where he could stretch his legs, climb the crows nest for exercise, or something…now he was simply stuck in a small, two man rowboat with a man he had a rather grudging respect for…very grudging, he affirmed as he watched the pirate from his spot on the floor.

Jack was leaning against the mast now, twirling a piece of his moustache between his fingers. There was a rather faraway look on his face, one that was different from his normal facial expression. Through his many and multiple dealings with the man, James had come to know the difference between the faces of Jack Sparrow; now, the pirates eyes were not shrewd as they usually were, but distant. He almost looked sad.

Shifting his position slowly so as not to cause unnecessary pain James fought with himself for a moment, wrestling with the decision, before he finally spoke.

"How did it end?"

Jack glanced at him, his eyes returning to normal. He didn't seem surprised James had spoken, but it didn't seem as if he'd been expecting it either.

"How did what end?"

James resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Davy Jones, the Kraken," he said, waving one hand for emphasis. "How did it end?"

Jack grinned slightly. "Both are dead."

"Will and Elizabeth?" James asked next.

"Married," Jack said as he raised an eyebrow at him. "Though Turner's dead, too," he said, in a tone that clearly stated he was surprised that James didn't know such a thing.

James' eyes widened. He'd always expected Will Turner to survive; he had an uncanny knack for doing so. "When?"

Jack leaned his head back. "He was killed on The Dutchman, a ship he now captains, ferrying the dead. Didn't he help _you_?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. It was apparent Jack knew James had died, but, as he had been brought back to life as well, he didn't seemed very fazed by the concept.

"No," James said, shaking his head. "I swam."

"You swam?" Jack asked, his voice flat. "How the hell did you _swim_ back to life?"

James looked at Jack, one hand at his side, holding the bandage—once a man's shirt—to the wound as it throbbed for a moment, then back at the open water. "I jumped out of the dingy rowboat I woke up in… and swam."

The pirate remained silent, watching James with his shrewd eyes, his eyes flickering from the wound at his side back to his face. After he said nothing, James looked back at him to find Jack smiling at him, clearly amused.

"You're an awfully reckless man, James Norrington. Chasing me through a hurricane, piracy, trying to kill Davy Jones, _jumping_ from the boat carrying you to the afterlife, _swimming_ back to life…I must say, I'm impressed. Though," he added, leaning towards James, "I always knew ye' had it in you."

James mouth, set in a thin line, did not waver. "Was that intended to be a compliment?" he asked bitterly, if only to mask the fact that what Jack had stated was true.

Jack raised his hands in the air and he settled back against the mast. "I don't think you'll see it that way," he said, surprising James with his obvious insight. Jack's dark eyes were on him again, and their gaze made James want to squirm slightly. "So, where have you been these past months? Elizabeth doesn't know you're alive. She asks Will about you every now and then."

"How the hell do you know that?" James asked, alarmed that Jack was still in close contact with the former Miss Swann.

"Will," was the simple answer he received.

James decided to leave it at that.

"So, where have you been? It's obvious you've been around a while," he said, gesturing to his companion. "That's certainly not an admiral's uniform, so unless you just got back and stole some poor man's clothes…"

"Spain," James replied, his thoughts turning back to the friends he'd left there. To the woman he'd left there.

"You speak much Spanish?" Jack asked, apparently amused.

"I do now."

"Southern Spain, I imagine?" Jack asked innocently, causing James' eyes to narrow.

"How did you know that?"

Jack grinned. "You were muttering incoherently in Spanish when I picked you up, in a distinctly southern accent."

Somehow, James was not surprised Jack spoke, or at least understood the language and its various dialects. "I've been on Palma de Mallorca," he said.

"Wonderful island, an acquaintance of mine lives there. And how have you done for yourself?" Jack asked. James had the distinct impression Jack was keeping this conversation away from himself, not that James cared what the pirate had been doing since he'd seen him last.

"Well enough," James said, and his tone implied he wished not to discuss the situation further.

Jack smiled at him again, a smile that was neither kind nor unkind. "Very well." He glanced around them, his eyes passing over a slight out cropping of jagged rocks; the very edge of what would soon be a shoreline. "In case you have any interest, we're roughly forty miles from said Spanish island. Would you like me to drop you off?" he asked conversationally, as if he frequently ferried old rivals and captors.

James' eyes widened. He wasted no time in responding: "_Yes_." He needed to get back and explain, as well as hear explanations. And, he thought as pain gripped his body again, he needed to do it before the infection he knew was in the wound on his stomach got any worse.

---

He was, to say the least, the most despicable man he'd ever laid eyes on.

Funny, Basilio thought bitterly as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He couldn't believe himself. He was in complete awe at his poor choice in actions. For one who prided himself on being smooth and composed, he'd certainly been doing an awful job of acting like it.

Basilio would never forgive himself for his actions on the night of the governor's ball; which was all well, because he was sure no one else would either.

He wanted to go and apologize to Vitalia, apologize until his throat was raw, but he wasn't sure that would be enough. He'd loved her as long as he could remember, but never had she indicated that she'd felt the same. And so, as a gentleman, Basilio had simply done nothing about it. He always figured she'd come around eventually; she had to marry at some point, and he always thought she'd rather marry him than someone she did not know. He thought that maybe she'd grow to love him.

Then James Norrington had come into their lives, and Vitalia had been lost to him. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that Vitalia was falling for the Englishman, and while it seemed like James had no real idea what was happening, Basilio was sure he reciprocated the feelings.

He sighed disgustedly, turning away from his disheveled reflection and flopping down into a rather large leather armchair. He had been taking it all in stride, his humiliation at the Navy by James' superior swordsmanship, Vitalia…all until he'd had too much to drink at the ball and forced himself onto her.

He hadn't known she'd been waiting for James. Not that, in his drunken state, it would've stopped him…but it made things all the worse now. If anything, he wanted Vitalia to be happy, even if it wasn't with him.

Basilio was surprised James hadn't challenged him to a duel or simply beat him…but then again, he knew James relatively well, and he knew James wasn't that kind of man. He almost took it all in stride, with his calm cold words, then departed the scene.

Basilio knew James had been sent out to sea a few hours after the party. And he also knew that, despite the fact his crew had pulled into port the day before, frantic, he had yet to return.

He couldn't even imagine how Vitalia was feeling. He didn't want to.

He wished he could tell her, somehow, that if he could, he'd go back and make it right for her; he would take it all back. Basilio wished he could more than he could handle.

With no sound, he rose from his armchair, grabbing his coat from the chaise that sat nearby. It was nearing one o'clock in the morning, and he was nowhere near being able to sleep.

Slipping out through a kitchen door, Basilio began to wander the vacant streets of Palma de Mallorca, wondering at the state of being he had thrown himself into. He walked through the square, passing the dark shops, until he came to the Navy yard. It was empty as well, save for the patrolmen who stood at the wall near the shore. With a nod to them, Basilio made his way down the stone steps until he reach the docks. From there, he hopped down into the sand. With slow steps, kicking stones as he went, Basilio began a slow, melancholy walk down the dark shoreline.

The sound of the waves against the sand calmed him, though they did nothing to ease the guilt and turmoil he felt. He knew nothing would, and he accepted it. He deserved it, and he acknowledged that fact. He wandered in silence, tuning the rest of the world out as he meandered. He was nearly a mile from the docks when a sound reached his ears that set him on alert.

He could hear splashing in the dark waters, the splashing of a person moving around. A hand slowly moved to the sword at his waist, and his eyes narrowed. No one was supposed to be down on this end of the shore. He wished for a candle, something to help him see what—who—was down the way, but he had nothing but the moon to light his way.

With slow, swift steps, Basilio continued walking, his sword now drawn in front of him. He could see a shadow moving about in the shallow waters, next to a sailboat that they had pulled up onto the shore.

"C'mon mate," Basilio heard the figure say rather quietly, "we need to get you some help…"

Basilio's eyes narrowed slightly. Was there another man? The first had spoken in English, his accent rough against Basilio's ears. He hid back in the shadows as he watched, close enough now to see what was happening in the moonlight.

A man, dressed in an odd array of clothes with long dark hair and a red bandana was moving about in the water, securing his vessel—one that Basilio was almost positive was stolen, for if this odd man wasn't a pirate, he didn't know what was—and hopping in and out of the water.

"Easy now," the man said, and Basilio was sure he heard a groaning from within the boat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" a second voice asked, and Basilio nearly jumped. He knew that voice. It was James Norrington. He couldn't help notice that James' voice was pinched, as if he was in pain.

"Helping you," the other man replied, "and whether you like it or not, I'm getting you out of the boat. You're going to start bleeding all over the floor, and I don't want that."

Basilio slowly lowered his sword. James Norrington was alive, though it was obvious he was injured.

"Give me yer arm," the pirate demanded.

"I can do it myself," James' voice said, and Basilio watched as James slowly appeared, rising from the deck of the boat. He was nearly standing when he faltered, and the pirate's hands were quick to catch him.

"No, you can't," the pirate grumbled. "Stop tryin', you're just goin' to make it worse."

Basilio watched as the pirate helped James over the side of the boat, and his stomach churned at the Englishman's' state. James' torso was covered in blood, both old and new, from a wound on his abdomen. The sight of it made Basilio wince, and he quickly sheathed his sword. He needed to help.

The sound of sliding metal made both Jack and James turn their heads, and Basilio slowly crept out from the shadows, his hands raised. Basilio noticed the fierce look that appeared in James' eyes, and he bowed his head slightly.

"Let me help, you, James," Basilio said, avoiding the cold, stormy eyes of the wounded Englishman.

James wanted nothing more than to lunge at the Spaniard and fasten his hands tightly around his neck, but he was in no state to do such a thing. He could feel Jack stiffen at his side. The pirate hand one arm around James, supporting his weight as best he could, and had his other hand hovering above his sword. James knew he'd been ready to draw, and would have, until Basilio spoke his name.

"Why," James growled in Spanish, trying to ignore the pain in his side as he shifted slightly. He couldn't help wincing, biting his lip as he fought the moment out.

"Because you need it," Basilio replied, lowering his hands. "And it is the least I can do right now," he added.

James looked at the younger man. Guilt covered his face, and shame was in his posture. He couldn't help the feeling of smugness that ran through his body as he took in the defeated appearance of the man who he'd caught with the woman he loved, but James also knew he was in no position to refuse the offer. Jack couldn't get him all the way back up the shore and up the stairs on his own, and as James had been slipping in and out of consciousness the past few days, he was bound to become dead weight at some point.

Slowly, James nodded at Basilio. "Very well," he said quietly.

At that, Jack shifted slightly, and James was grateful the pirate understood Spanish. He was in no mood to explain who Basilio was. The pain in his side was spreading and he could feel himself becoming dizzy.

Basilio took up position on James' other side, carefully avoiding jostling the large wound and easing James up onto his feet. "_Mi Dios_, James," he muttered, "what the hell happened to you?" he asked as he took in the rest of James' appearance.

"Pirates," James answered, his head lolling back and forth on his shoulders, "it's always pirates."

He thought he heard Jack snicker, but he wasn't sure. The pair of men at his side began walking and James tried his best to move his legs along with them. He could feel himself losing his grip on consciousness as they made their way down the sand, the pain was growing more and more intense and the throbbing was driving James made.

He groaned in pain as Jack and Basilio began climbing the stairs, trying his best to keep his eyes open. He heard Basilio shouting for help as they made their way down the wooden docks, and he heard startled cries of alarm and the sounds of hurried footsteps on stone as they began their ascent of the stone staircase. The Navy training yard and barrack came into view, fuzzy as James tried his best to keep his grasp on reality. He thought he saw the blacksmith, Camillo, rush out of the smithy, hollering for a doctor, but he couldn't be sure. He felt himself being lead into the barracks, the feeling of a mattress beneath his back…

And then his vision went black.

---

Armand had been awake in his study, pouring through documents and bills by the light of a dozen candles and a glass of wine when a thoroughly disgruntled Basilio burst through the doors.

Armand had no chance to question the young man as Basilio quickly told him what exactly brought him to the mansion—a place he had staunchly avoided since the ball.

"James is back," Basilio said, leaning over and resting his palms on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Armand rose from his seat at once, alarmed. "He's badly wounded, he's at the barracks."

Armand said nothing, and Basilio wasn't sure if he'd understood the severity of the situation. He looked up, but was surprised to find Armand halfway out the door.

A million things were running through Armand's mind as he and Basilio ran, literally, down to the docks. He'd left word with his butler of his departure, in case his wife or niece awoke, as he'd left. He hadn't donned a coat or even fastened the buttons of his vest. He had been worried about James, his thoughts on him often. He'd been at the dock when James' crew had returned without him, listened personally to their stories of the ambush gone wrong. As much as he didn't want to admit, he thought James dead. Part of him held out hope that his friend would return, and the hope had apparently paid off.

He arrived at the barracks amidst a crowd of cadets and other officers, and he made his way to James' bedside with ease as the mass of people parted for him. A pair of doctors stood beside James, peeling away bloodied cloth and applying hot water to his side, washing the large, gaping wound that went up and across James' torso.

Armand's breath caught in his throat as he took in James' appearance; the wound on his side, the various other cuts on his chest and arms, the fluttering of his closed eyelids, the lines of sweat on his forehead… he knew it did not look good.

"Where did you find him," he asked Basilio, who had come to stand beside him, in a hollow tone.

"I was down on the beach," Basilio replied. "I heard noises and found James, in the company of this man," he raised a hand and pointed to a man standing off to the side.

Armand knew without a second glance who the man was, he was no fool and kept up on the news on the piracy front. He said nothing however, turning his eyes away form Jack Sparrow back to James. He couldn't help note the pirate had something resembling concern on his dark features; he made a not to question his relation to James, but knew the time for such questions was not now.

"Send note to my wife," Armand said to Basilio, "inform her of the situation here. Then send word to James' home. I want his staff ready to receive him. As soon as he is fit to move from here, we will be bringing him there."

Basilio nodded and was off without a word.

As Armand called for the crowd in the barracks to disperse and he turned his attention back to his wounded friend, he could only hope that James would pull through and survive. He didn't want to admit it, but things did _not_ look good.

* * *

Well...? I hope you all don't hate Basilio as much anymore... I do like him. He knows he's done wrong, and thats more than a lot of guys can say when theydo something like that... 

The next chapter should be up in a few weeks. Tomorrow I begin living at the library and preparing for my three finals (I have three in the span of two days :[ ew...) and I'd like to get the fourth chapter of my Bleach fic up next.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! As always...

Please review!!!!!!!!

-Luin


	17. Chapter 17

Well, dear readers, here is the final chapter of 'Breaking the Surface'. There will be an epilogue, posted later tonight or tomorrow, probably, that clears up most of our beloved James' future.

Without further ado, enjoy the last, full-length installment.

* * *

Vitalia had not been able to sleep soundly for quite sometime, and when, for the first time in what felt like forever, she was finally able to sleep peacefully, she found herself being shaken roughly awake. Her eyes flew open, she was prepared to be angry and reprimand whoever was responsible to waking her. When her eyes rested on her aunt's face however, she knew something was wrong. Adela looked strained; her mouth was set in a firm line, her eyebrows were drawn, and her dark eyes were filled with something akin to fear.

"Is it James?" she asked softly, searching Adela's face. She slowly sat up, pushing herself with her arms, letting her blankets fall down onto her bed as she rose.

Adela looked hard at Vitalia, then slowly nodded.

Vitalia's heart did a number of things then. It leapt—James had come back. It sank—what would she say to him? It soared—he'd come back to her. It twisted—what had happened to him? And it bled—what if she lost him? She didn't think she could bear that…not again.

Quickly, she swung her legs from her bed and stood. "What's going on?"

"He's injured—badly," Adela said, her voice soft. "He's down at the barracks. Your uncle and Basilio are with him right now, as is the doctor."

Vitalia's eyes flashed at the mention of Basilio, but she said nothing. "We are going," she said, rather than questioned.

Adela smiled for the briefest of seconds, then nodded. "I've had the maids set out clothes for you. Dress quickly, we don't know…" she said trailing off.

'_We don't know if he's going to make it'_.

Vitalia could practically hear the unspoken words as her aunt left her to dress. It made her get ready all the faster.

After she'd thrown on a plain, brown dress, Vitalia slipped on her most practical shoes—riding boots—and rushed out of her room. Adela was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her, already with her cloak over her shoulders. Two serving women stood next to her, one holding Vitalia's cloak and the other with a small selection of rolls and muffins that were meant to be for breakfast.

"Eat something," Adela ordered as Vitalia allowed the maid to slip her cloak around her shoulders. "You will need strength."

Vitalia grabbed a muffin, breaking a chunk off and popping it into her mouth. She and Adela quickly left the manse, walking as fast as they could down the hill towards the Spanish Royal Navy barracks.

"How bad is it?" Vitalia asked once she'd finished her muffin. She had to know. She needed some idea before she walked in and saw him.

Adela glanced at her. "It's not good," she said. "I didn't get details. Only that James was badly injured and in the barracks." She didn't feel the need to inform her niece that it was Basilio who'd told her such things, somehow, she didn't think that would help the situation.

Vitalia's face was grim, but there was a sparkle in her eyes. Despite the fact he was injured, despite the fact he'd left angrier at her than she'd ever seen a man, Vitalia was happy she could see him.

---

The crowd outside the barracks was chaos. Adela and Vitalia made their way through it as calmly as possible, though the worried, frantic state of the soldiers outside the building where James was being kept alarmed them greatly. The door of the building was opened by the port's burly blacksmith and he quickly ushered both ladies inside.

It was very quiet inside the barrack, only a handful of people had been allowed to stay. They were clustered around a bed, and all heads turned when the door opened. Armand immediately went to his wife and niece.

"What has happened?" Vitalia asked in a whisper. The place felt like a morgue. It unnerved her.

"He's been wounded, badly," Armand whispered back. "A large gash on his stomach, and other small cuts and bruises all over his body. It's the belly cut that worries us."

Armand looked at his wife, who wrapped her arms through his, squeezing his bicep lightly in comfort.

"May I see him…?"

Turning his eyes to his niece, Armand had to fight the urge to sweep her up and promise her everything was going to be alright. She understood the severity of a wound on the abdomen, and it showed quite clearly in her face. She was a good deal paler than she usually was, and her mouth was in a thin line, turned down at the edges.

Armand nodded, and wrapped his arm around Vitalia's shoulders. Together, the three of them walked over to James' bedside.

Adela sent up a quick prayer as she took in James' sorry state, tightening her grip on her husbands arm. Vitalia said nothing, but her hands flew over her mouth to cover a gasp that wouldn't come.

James was pale, deathly so, and covered with bruises and gashes. He'd been relieved of his shirt and lay covered to the waist with heavy blankets to try and help ease his shivering. Two doctors knelt on his side, working needles and thread through a large wound that stretched up his side.

"We were able to clean it," Armand said quietly, "and cut out most of the infection."

Vitalia winced, but she did not tear her eyes away.

The man she loved lay, quite possibly dying, before her.

"Go to him,_preciosa_," Adela whispered, squeezing Vitalia's shoulder softly.

Vitalia nodded slowly. Her steps were slow, but in no way hesitant. Walking to his other side, to give the doctors' their space, Vitalia knelt onto the cold stone floor, not caring in the least about the dirt that would cling to her gown. Carefully, she raised her hands and gently took James' hand in them. His hand was cold, but she could feel the slow pulse of life through him. Wrapping his large hand with both of hers, Vitalia drew it up and held it to her cheek, staring at James' face with a sad intensity.

It chilled her to the bone that he could die, there, on the bed before her. She knew if that happened, she would never forgive herself. Everyday of her life she would be plagued with the guilt that James had died thinking she didn't love him. Which, was very far from the truth. He needed to know truth, and she wished more than anything she could just shake him awake and confess to him.

Vitalia, however, was sensible and let the doctors continue to stitch the wound with no disturbances. She was no fool, and she would not, in manner, jeopardize James' chance of survival.

She was aware of the eyes on her; everyone in the room, save the doctors, were watching her with pain on their faces. Her aunt and uncle looked stricken, Adela clinging to her husband's embrace. She saw Basilio, standing in the shadows, his eyes more so on James than her. She saw the regret on his face, as well as a sadness she couldn't place. She thought some of it might be for her. On Basilio's left stood the blacksmith, his face grave and his arms crossed over his chest.

A man stood next to the blacksmith, close enough next to him to suggest he knew the man, that Vitalia did not recognize. He was dirty and tanned, dressed in worn and fraying clothes. His hair was a wild mess, tamed only slightly by a red cloth that was pulled over it. If she didn't know any better, Vitalia would think the man was a pirate.

She tried her best to ignore the stares of pity and sadness, instead turning her own dark eyes back to James' face. He looked almost peaceful, and if it weren't for his gray coloring, one would think he was sleeping.

"Please, James," she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes, some creeping down her cheeks and then onto her and James' joined hands. "_Please_."

---

Armand watched his niece at James' bedside with a very heavy heart. He hope to God that he had not brought her here to say good-bye to the man she so obviously loved.

"Where did you find him?" Adela asked in a whisper, close to Armand's ear.

If James hadn't been so badly wounded, Armand thought, the story really would have been quite interesting and slightly amusing.

"Basilio found him," Armand replied, just as quietly.

"Where?" Adela asked again.

Armand turned his head, glancing around the room, his eyes landing on James' companion. "With that man, over there. He knew James, back when he was in the Carribean, and says he picked him up in the sea."

Adela turned and, spotting Jack Sparrow, raised her eyebrows. The man was obviously a pirate. Somehow, she found it strange that James would be acquainted with someone like him, but she was no judge. The man had an emotionless face on, but she could see the corners of his mouth turned down just a bit, and his dark eyes blazed.

"Who is he?" she asked, turning back to Armand.

A soft smile graced Armand's face before it quickly disappeared. "Jack Sparrow," he told her.

Her eyebrows shot up again. "Jack Sparrow?" she asked, almost incredudously. She glanced back at him, hoping he hadn't heard her—his face hadn't changed and he still watched James, so if he had he gave no indication. "Didn't he give you trouble a few years ago?"

Armand nodded. "I'm willing to overlook the rum-running right now," he said. His eyes rested on James and Vitalia, who still knelt beside him, his hand in hers.

Adela thought that was a very good idea. She would not fault the man now, not after he had brought James back to them.

---

Three hours later, when the sun had started to begin its ascent into the sky, the two surgeons deemed James was able to be moved. Their faces held no promises as they announced this, but they thought he should be more comfortable, and in his own home.

Everyone knew that they thought he should be home, in his own bed, in case he died.

A stretcher was brought from the infirmary and James was carefully moved onto the white cloth. Armand, Basilio, Jack, and the blacksmith Camillo. Vitalia still held his hand.

The four men loaded the stretcher into a wagon Armand had called from his estate, and gently urged the horses through the navy yard, town, and eventually up the sloping hill. Adela had gone on ahead of them, making sure that James' staff was properly prepared to receive him.

In the wagon, Vitalia sat beside her uncle, who watched his friend's chest rise and fall with an indiscernible look on his face. Camillo had not accompanied them, but the man Vitalia did not know sat across from her, invited by her uncle. Basilio sat next to him.

The man Vitalia did not know had his arms on his knees, his fingers steepled and his chin atop them. He looked pensive, but Vitalia noted the soft lines of worry around his eyes.

He caught her looking at him, and offered a small smile. Armand chose that moment to speak.

"Jack Sparrow, I believe," he said softly. It was less a question and more a statement for confirmation.

The name was familiar to Vitalia, but she couldn't place it. She glanced at Basilio, who only stared at the ground. She turned her gaze back to the man.

"You are correct, my good Mayor," Jack replied, in perfect Spanish no less.

Armand stared at him, his head cocked slightly to one side, as if he wasn't sure what to make of the man or do with him. "How do you know James?" he finally settled on.

Jack smiled, a crooked grin filled with mischief. "The good commodore saw fit to chase me 'round the sea," he replied. He looked as if he knew more—much more—about James, but he didn't add to his statement.

"Why help him then, if he was after you?" Armand asked, his tone harder. He was not entirely suspicious of Jack, not yet, but he was a firm believer in that one could never be too careful.

Jack looked thoughtful, and waited several moments before speaking. "He might not've liked it," he said, looking down at James, "But I believe he woulda' done the same fer me."

As far as pirates went, Armand knew Jack Sparrow was rather mild. And if he knew James at all, and he liked to think he did, he could believe Jack's words. "Very well," was all he said in response.

Jack offered him a small smile, then suddenly turned his attention to Basilio, who was a picture of guilt and self-disgust. Everytime the wagon would lurch and James' body would move, Basilio looked frightened, as if he expected James to leap up and attack him. Vitalia had no sympathy for him, and hoped that, once James was recovered and understood what had happened on the night of the Governor's Ball, he would.

"You look _awfully_ nervous, mate," Jack told him, grinning as Basilio jumped at being addressed, no less than by a known pirate.

It was then that Vitalia decided she rather liked Jack.

Basilio mumbled something incoherent, and silence fell on the group once more, all eyes on James. Nothing further was said on the way to James' home. Jack let out a soft whistle as they pulled up to the white house James had purchased. Along with Armand and Basilio, Jack helped carry James from the wagon into his home, then slowly up the stairs to his bedroom. Adela stood there, still giving the maids orders on what to do. The men carefully unloaded James from the stretcher, Adela fussing with the covers and blankets as they did.

Through it all, Vitalia never once let go of James' hand.

---

Later that day, Armand, Adela, and Jack Sparrow stood together on the balcony outside Armand's study. Vitalia could not be persuaded to leaves James' side—not that anyone was surprised by this—and Basilio had dismissed himself shortly after James had been settled in. one of the surgeons also sat with James, checking the status of his wound periodically and doling out rather generous doses of a painkilling and sleep inducing syrup.

"You are leaving then?" Adela asked Jack. Armand had "formally" introduced them after they had safely tucked James in. she didn't have a strong urge for the pirate to stay, but she wasn't going to turn him away if he wanted to wait for James. Despite the fact that Jack seemed rather flippant about the fallen Englishman, Adela figure he really did care, at least somewhat.

Jack nodded, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on the rolling sea. "I've things to finish," was all he said. Both Adela and Armand saw the raw determination in Jack's dark eyes, and the serious expression on his usually unreadable face.

"Thank you," Armand said, and he bowed slightly to Jack, "for helping James back."

"We are indebted to you," Adela said, even though she'd rather _not_ be indebted to a man of Jack's status. You could never tell when pirates would come storming back into your life, demanding aid or payment for whatever they'd done for you.

Jack turned and looked at the couple. They stood side-by-side, pain and genuine thankfulness on their faces. He wasn't sure how much this family, these people in Spain, really knew about James. From what he had heard and observed, James was a captain here, a rather lowly position considering he'd once been an admiral. He didn't think they knew much about his past life—for that's literally what it was. James had died and brought himself back to life…and Jack didn't think they knew that either.

Though he wouldn't admit it, Jack felt something akin to happiness for James and the new life he'd created around him. The people before him, as well as the young Spaniard girl, obviously cared for him very much. Jack wasn't sure, but he didn't think many people in the Caribbean had been as attached to him. He also knew, for a fact, that when James had died, there had been little to no mourning for him.

James had said he'd done "Well enough" for himself, but Jack now knew that to be an understatement in the grandest sense. He'd done _wonderfully_.

"Not a problem," Jack said, waving his hand, "Don't ever tell the dear co—captain," he caught himself, not feeling up to ruining James' cover, "but I owed him, at least this. He's a decent sort."

Armand smiled. "He is."

"Well then," Jack announced, clapping his hands together and looking around. "I'm off. I much appreciate that you lot didn't turn me in," he said.

"We are indebted to you for bringing James back," Adela reminded him from her place at her husband's side. Their arms were threaded together, and they watched Jack turn and prepare to jump from their balcony, back down to the sea.

Jack paused, one leg up over the rail. He turned back and looked at the couple, his eyes nearly sincere. "Tell Norrington he's done more than well enough for himself," he said after a moment. He grinned then, slowly. "And that I wish him many happy returns."

"We will," Armand promised, and with that, Jack Sparrow leapt over the balcony railing.

Armand and Adela heard the _thunk_ of him landing in the foliage below, and they turned and went back into the den.

As Jack waded through the trees and bushes, back towards where he'd left his little stolen boat, he hope James would understand his words. The man was sharp, he'd give him that, but wasn't always as witty as he, dear old Jack, was.

---

Soon after they'd brought James home, he developed a fever. His wound was red and swollen once more. The doctors were grim faced as they informed Armand, Adela, and Vitalia of the situation.

On the second day, James began thrashing in his sleep. Sometimes so violently Armand and the surgeon had to holding him down to keep him from tumbling from the bed. Once, James jerked so hard he re-opened some of his stitches.

On the third day he began murmuring softly and he moved, his face pulling as he did so. Sometime he'd whimper softly, his brows drawn tight, and sometimes he'd cry out, whether it was in anger, pain, or sadness was anyone's guess.

No matter what the doctors did, they could not make James' fever break.

Vitalia never left his side, wiping him down with cold cloths, delivering the proper doses of medicine whenever the doctors were dozing. She was a constant fixture at the side of his bed, always stroking his brow or holding his hand tightly, willing his fever to break and be gone. Adela would bring clothes over to James' home for her, and the maids drew baths for her in one of the guest rooms.

Adela and Armand took turns at James' house, alternating every few hours so the other could try and get some form of rest. One of them was always present, either in the room with James, the doctor, and Vitalia, or downstairs, taking charge of James' home. Basilio would stop by each day, never journeying upstairs, but he would inquire as to the state of James' recovery and offer his aide for anything that needed to be done. Vitalia never saw Basilio, though she was aware of his visits. While she had no desire whatsoever to see him, it made her anger at him lessen slightly to know he cared enough to go out of his way and check on James.

The fourth day came very slowly. The doctors were beginning to lose hope that James would ever wake or that his wound would ever close. The morning was bright, seeming ironically cheerful to Vitalia and her aunt and uncle. James had had a relatively peaceful night, though his fever had not lessened or grown. Adela had left at daybreak, along with the doctor who had taken the previous night's shift. The other doctor would be arriving later than usual, as he was helping to deliver a set of twins to one of the town women. By now the pair of medics trusted Vitalia to give James the proper drugs in the right amount at the right times. Armand was on his way as well, but Vitalia figured he would want to spend at least some time with his wife before he made his way back over to James'. He still had his duties as mayor as well, and there was always the chance that something would tear him away from his vigil/

And so, Vitalia was alone with James' household staff. His butler, Juan-Diego, would pop in every half our or so, offering to fetch some food or drink for Vitalia and inquiring if there was anything to could do for either her or James. His housekeeper Anna was also especially attentive, taking care to make sure Vitalia, as well as Armand and Adela, received proper nourishment when they were in residence. It was obvious that James' staff cared for him; he'd made a nice impression on them, treating them fairly the first day they'd worked, and seemingly he'd won their loyalty.

The clock on the wall read seven o'clock when Anna came in with a small tray for Vitalia. She knew the young woman would not eat much, so she brought in only what was needed, some fruit, cheese, bread, and coffee and orange juice. She set the tray down on the bedside table nearest to Vitalia, watching the poor, heartbroken girl as she held her masters hand. If watching James in pain wasn't hard enough, watching Vitalia struggle to make it day to day without breaking was even worse.

Anna left as silently as she came, and Vitalia slowly helped herself to the plate she'd brought. Her eyes never leaving James' sleeping face, Vitalia popped a piece of cheese into her mouth, washing it down with a sip of orange juice.

James' closed eyes twitched in his sleep, a look of pain appearing on his face. For the thousandth time, Vitalia wished there was _something_ she could do. She reached forward, settling herself on the edge of her chair, and took James hand in her own. She traced the contours of his hand with her fingers, slowly stroking his skin in a feeble attempt to calm him. She was reminded of when she'd sat with James when Armand had carried him up from the beach. If the situation wasn't so tragic, she would have been amused.

"James," she said softly, wishing she could simply call him back from his painful sleep. His eyes fluttered under his lids, and Vitalia wondered if, somehow, he could hear her. "I've missed you, you know," she whispered to him, the words falling slowly from her lips.

She brought his hand up to her mouth, placing a gentle kiss on it, something she never would have done before, whether he was asleep or not. Over the past few days however, when she'd know James could be leaving her any second, she did away with her sense of propriety in the manner of simple gestures of affection. James seemed to calm slightly, taking a deep. He seemed to be waiting for Vitalia to continue speaking.

She did. "I never actually figured out what I'd say to you, if you came back to me," she put James' hand back down on the bed, standing and pulling the covers up further, nearly to his chin. Instead of going back to her chair, Vitalia set herself gently on the edge of James' bed, staring sadly at his sleeping face. "I wouldn't know how to say to you, even if I did know."

She threaded her fingers through James', his skin slightly warmer than it had been. His eyes fluttered once more, and his mouth twitched as if he was going to speak. But he just lay there.

"I suppose the truth would work the best," she said after a moment of silence, choosing her words carefully. Even if he was sleeping, he deserved to hear the truth at some point. She promised herself when he woke—if he woke—she would tell him all over again. "The truth is, James," she whispered, "I was waiting for _you_ that night at the ball—not Basilio. I think…I think I've _always_ been waiting for you." Her last statement was more of a confession to herself.

"He followed me out of the ballroom, I don't know why. He opened the door—I thought it was you…if I'd know it was him, I would've slapped him or told him to leave as soon as I'd seen him—but my back was to him, to the door. I swear James, I thought it was you…I wanted it to be you…"

"I don't know when I realized it," she continued, her thumb tracing patterns on the back of James' hand, "that I loved you. I don't think it was quite when I tripped over you on the beach," she thought out-loud with a small smile, "but it can't have been very long after that. Maybe when I found you swimming down at the beach, or after we went with you to visit this house," she smiled at both memories, "but it's so obvious to me now, just like it was the night of the ball. I love you, James Norrington, and I think I always will."

Her last sentence was said quietly, almost inaudibly, but James heard her.

He had woken from a nightmare filled sleep, groggily, when Vitalia had kissed his hand.

James figured out where he was when she'd pulled the covers up over him, opening his eyes slowly, then shutting them as soon as he'd spotted Vitalia. He slowly let his body wake from its long sleep. He could tell he had a fever, he was sweating, and he could feel the slow throb of the wound at his side, though it felt significantly better than he'd last remembered it. Memories came flooding back to him, memories of Jack and Basilio carrying him up the steps to the navy yard, and he recalled that he'd passed out. He figured he'd been out for a number of days, he could feel the growth of hair on his face.

He didn't know what to do, lying there in bed while Vitalia was so near him, touching him, kissing his hand. He wanted nothing more than to pull her tightly to him, tell her that he was sorry for storming off, tell her…whatever he could think of to help fix whatever had happened to them. Basilio had never told him that it was his fault, the kiss between him and Vitalia, but from the guilty looks he had given James and the pain that was evident on his face, James had the feeling that was what'd happened, and while he hadn't yet forgiven Basilio—who was to say he ever would? —he was willing to let it pass for now.

James had wondered where Jack had gone off to, if the pirate had stuck around or had turned tail and fled as soon as he'd delivered James into the hands of the Navy. He wouldn't be surprised. He realized, with a small measure of annoyance, that he was now indebted to the pirate. Jack had, quite surprisingly, saved his life.

And so, as these thoughts were running through his head, James lay still as best he could, and then he'd simply listened. He'd been listening quietly, virtually motionless, but with the last words Vitalia spoke, James knew he could stay still no longer.

Slowly, James opened his eyes. Vitalia still sat beside him, his hand in hers, and her eyes were downcast, focused on their joined hands. Tears were in her eyes, flowing slowly down her face. He wasn't sure what would be the best method of letting her know he was awake, no matter what he did was bound to alarm her in some way. And so, slowly, James squeezed her hand, applying subtle pressure to their grasp.

He watched as her eyes widened and her mouth opened, forming a small 'O' of surprise. He waited as her eyes traveled up to his face, and he offered a weak smile as she gasped.

"James!" she exclaimed, "James, forgive me, I'm so so—"

James cut her off by shaking his head and tightening his grip on her hand. "Did you mean all of that?" he asked, his voice raw and hoarse from its sudden use after days of silence. "Everything you said?"

Vitalia stared at him, her eyes still wide, the tears flowing faster now. "Every word, James," she said quietly, nodding in case James hadn't heard her.

James stared at her. A million things were coursing through his body along with his fever: elation, adrenaline, happiness, calmness…

"Good," was all he could manage before he gave in.

With a tug, he pulled Vitalia down to his, crushing her to his chest and wrapping both his arms around her. She let out a gasp but did not resist him, she only watched his with her wide chocolate eyes.

James brought one hand up holding her face before him and slowly captured her lips with his in a painfully slow, breathtaking kiss.

---

James' fever broke later that night, as he lay in bed, propped up by pillows, surrounded by the family that had taken care of him since he'd washed up on their beach. Armand's eyes had begun watering when he walked into the room to find James sitting up, talking with his niece and his butler. Vitalia sit sat on James' bed, nestled in the crook of him arm, but Armand said nothing on the subject; in fact, his smile seemed to widen even more. Adela had openly wept, hugging James very tightly and telling him that, under no circumstances, was he ever to scare them like that again.

He was up and moving around the next day, though his two doctors wished he would've rested at least one more day. James, however, wanted to waste no time. He'd been dead once, almost twice, and had no desire to sit idly. He spent much of his days recovering on his porch or in his study, always with Vitalia at his side, and more often than naught in the company of her aunt and uncle.

James received many cards and notes from his soldiers expressing their joy that he was still living, a few of the more outspoken ones vowing to go easy on him once he came back to work with them. Vitalia's friend Isabella stopped by one afternoon, joining the group on the porch for lunch. She seemed to watch James with knowing eyes and smiled at him when she saw Vitalia knit their fingers together almost unconsciously.

She pulled him aside before she left, under the impression of thanking him, but instead demanded if he'd picked an engagement ring out for Vitalia left.

James smiled wryly. "I haven't been allowed out of my house yet," he told her, "But I plan on going into town tomorrow and looking for one."

"Good," Isabella said, nodding to him. "I don't know how well you know her taste in jewelry," she told him, "but if you would like help, feel free to ask me, though I'm sure Adela would help you as well."

James smiled, feeling touched. "Thank you, I might."

"Good," she said again. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon," her eyes twinkled as she spoke, and then curtsied, bidding James good-bye.

The next day, James convinced Vitalia to sleep late, arguing lightly that she needed sleep from her late night vigils at his bedside. She agreed, albeit rather resentfully. While she slept, James left his house for the first time and walked leisurely down to town. His side still ached, but the wound was now covered with newly pink flesh, healing with the aid of a salve the doctors had given him, as well as James sheer determination to live.

Armand had visited him earlier that day, taking breakfast and coffee with James, and it was then that James formally asked permission to ask Vitalia for her hand. Armand had fixed James with an amused look when he asked, causing James to demand what exactly he found so amusing.

"I don't know why you're asking," Armand said with a grin. "You should know that you're the only man who I would deem worthy of her—and the fact that I didn't kill you when I saw her sitting with you in your bed the day you woke up should be clue enough."

James laughed, holding up two hands in surrender. "Very true," he said, then fixed Armand with serious eyes. "So I have your leave?"

"Obviously," Armand said, then popped a grape smartly into his mouth.

James met Adela and Isabella outside the jewelers, both women smiling broadly at him. It was more than apparent they were happy for Vitalia.

"We have a few picked out that she would like," Adela told James as the three entered the shop, "but we thought you'd want to look around first."

James nodded his thanks then began to make he way around the shop, pausing before each of the jewelry cases to examine their contents. He was halfway through the cases when he found it. Immediately after seeing it, James knew.

It was gold, a thin band with a cluster of diamonds in the center, almost like a flower. In the very middle of the diamond cluster was a small, peach colored stone. It was an exact match for the dress that Vitalia had worn the night of the Governor's Ball.

"This one," he said, and Adela and Isabella quickly came over to look.

Isabella made a sound of approval and Adela smiled at him.

"This one the one we thought she'd like the most," she told him, "I'm impressed, James."

James shrugged, slightly embarrassed, then motioned for the jeweler to come over and remove the ring so he could have a better look at it.

He proposed to her that night, while Vitalia, Adela, and Armand were having dinner at his home. In a flurry of joyful tears, Vitalia agreed, pulling James up from his knees once he'd slid the ring onto her finger and kissing him solidly on the mouth. Armand began clapping wildly, but stopped as his wife shot him a look of disapproval.

* * *

I thought about ending it right when he kissed her, but I didn't want the epilogue to be more than a few pages. And I didn't want to be so mean as to leave you all hanging like that.

I'll save my more sentimental note for the epilogue, so until then, please review! I'd really like to know what you all think of the story, and this chapter especially.

-Luin


	18. Epilogue

I'll save my note for the end.

Enjoy!

* * *

Basilio called on James two days after he'd proposed to Vitalia.

He was shown to James' study where James was seated at his desk, flipping through furniture pallets and fabric swatches, attempting to decide how he wanted to further outfit his house.

Vitalia had told him she would help, but gave him full control over what she dubbed "the more manly rooms" of the house—this included his study, as well as a large den and his dressing room. James looked up when Basilio was shown in, setting the swatches down onto his desk and leaning back into his chair. His dark eyes rested rather mercilessly on the Spaniard before him.

Basilio dipped into a deep bow, deeper the necessary, and with a soft sigh, James motioned for him to sit in one of two chairs on the other side of his desk. Basilio did so rather quickly; James could tell he was nervous.

Firstly, he offered his congratulations on the engagement. James accepted them, nodding his head and verbally thanking Basilio as well. He wondered how Basilio had heard of the engagement so fast, he and Vitalia had yet to announce it to the public, but James let the man continue uninterrupted.

After that, Basilio took a deep breath. "I want to apologize to you, James," he said, faltering slightly as he spoke.

He did not specify what he was apologizing for, but he figured that James would know.

James did.

"My actions were—" he seemed to fight the words, self-disgust on his face, "—despicable. Disgusting. Ungentlemanly. Any other awful adjectives you can think of, that is how I behaved that night. I am here to offer my deepest apologies to you."

James looked at him, studying him with his dark eyes. He knew that Basilio was sincere; he would not have come to speak to him if he hadn't been.

As he looked at Basilio, James realized he now had two distinct options: He could accept Basilio's apology and leave the subject at that. Or, he could express all the rage he felt for the man in front of him, tell him how he had very nearly ruined the happiness he and Vitalia now shared, making him feel worse than he obviously already felt.

If James had been a lesser man, he would have taken the second option.

"Thank you," James said quietly, his voice sounding almost deadly, "for apologizing."

Basilio nodded and relaxed visibly.

"How did you know about the engagement?" James asked, genuinely interested. He hadn't told anyone, but it was possible Vitalia had if Basilio had gone to her to apologize as well.

"I just spoke with Armand," Basilio told him. "I apologized to Vitalia before I came to you, and also informed Armand of my transfer."

"Transfer?" James asked, raising an eyebrow.

Basilio nodded. "I requested a change in station last week, after…" he trailed off, then continued, "I've been transferred to Madrid, for now. I think my mother wants me in town for matchmaking purposes, however," he added as an afterthought. James didn't doubt that, as a countess, Basilio's mother could influence where he was stationed.

"When do you leave?"

"Three days," Basilio replied. "I really should be packing." He stood then, and James rose with him.

Slowly, James held out his hand. Basilio looked at him, then back to his hand, and then shook it firmly. Basilio departed James' house soon after, and after James had sat down once more, he couldn't help feeling as if something heavy had been lifted from his shoulders.

---

James and Vitalia were married five months later, in the spring, in Palma de Mallorca.

All of James' cadets attended the ceremony, filling the rows of 'his side' of the church. Vitalia's side was filled with her relatives, some of them very distant, and more than one of them was a noble. James met Basilio's cousin, who was in fact _second_ in command of the Spanish Royal Navy. He was a jovial man, shorter than James with a more husky build.

The ceremony was beautiful, complete with flower petals tossed from the church balcony, exquisite music, and heartfelt vows, but in James' mind, nothing would ever compare to how beautiful Vitalia looked as she walked down the aisle to him.

She had a gown made from the same peach colored silk she wore at the Governor's Ball, with a sheer white train. The dress was simple, with a delicately jeweled bodice, off-the-shoulder sleeves, and a deep neckline. She had her hair pinned back, dusted with jewels, so that pieces of it hung in snake-like tendrils around her face.

The moment they said 'I do', James could not think of a time he was happier than he was at that moment. He sent thanks to all the gods he could think of that he'd had the will and determination to jump from the dingy rowboat and swim his way back to life, and then he thanked all the gods he could think of that he'd landed himself on Armand's beach.

The pair honeymooned on a small Italian island, returning a month after they'd left.

Deemed 'fully recovered' by his two doctors, James began his work with the Navy once more, spending his days training with his soldiers and his nights with his wife. Vitalia busied herself by redecorating James' home, taking charge once James began working once more.

She also spent time painting; during her wedding reception, one of her guests had spotted her work in Armand's home and encouraged her to try and sell her pieces. She'd sold very few, but she was proud of herself anyways. James had glowed with pride when she told him of her first sale and continued to encourage her. As the months passed and the couple fell into routine, Vitalia realized she was with child. James couldn't have been more thrilled. The prospect of being a father, once something he rarely gave thought to, had sprung into his mind on their honeymoon.

James came home one evening to find his pregnant wife standing in his study, hands on her swollen belly.

"What do you think you're doing!" James demanded, rushing in and attempting to usher her down and into a chair.

Vitalia laughed, resisting her husband. "I am perfectly fine, James," she told him with mock sternness, "This baby is not coming for _some_ time."

James still looked as if he wanted put her into a chair, but he only nodded. "What are you doing in here?" he asked. Vitalia was certainly allowed in his study, but she rarely ventured inside unless James was already there.

"I decorated for you," she said, grinning mysteriously at him.

James blinked. His study had been re-decorated long before they'd been married, nearly immediately after he'd recovered, and the walls were still the same color and all the furniture was still the same as it had been.

"There," Vitalia said with a smile as James looked around the room, perplexed. She pointed to the wall beside James' desk, and he immediately saw what she meant.

There, on the dark red walls of his study, hung a portrait of himself. He knew immediately who its maker was. The life-like appearance of the portrait had James feeling as if he was looking into a mirror. His mouth was soft in the painting, very unlike one that had been commissioned when he lived in the Caribbean, and his eyes were shining.

"I had a lot of trouble with the eyes," Vitalia said quietly and she stared at her work as well. She slipped her arm through her husbands. "I tried to capture the way they shine, the way they looked whenever you looked at me."

James glanced at her, smiling. "They still shine when I look at you," he told her.

She smiled. "I know." Turning back to the painting, she let out a thoughtful sigh. "This is what I wanted to show you, that night," she said.

'That night' was what they used to refer to the evening of the Governor's Ball. James glanced at the painting.

"You've had it done since then?" he asked. "Why didn't you show it to me sooner?"

She grinned at him, "An artists work is never finished, James…that, and I wanted to fix it up. It had to be perfect."

James smiled down at his wife. Raising his hand, he cupped her cheek and turned her face towards him. "Thank you," he said softly. He was thanking her for more than the picture she'd given him. He was thanking her for everything: when she'd rescued him from the beach, when she taught him patiently how to speak Spanish, when she'd brought him back from his second near death experience…he was thanking her for everything she'd ever done for him, everything she would ever do for him, and everything she brought into his life.

Slowly, stroking her cheek with his thumb, James smiled and leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on Vitalia's lips.

* * *

And so end 'Breaking the Surface'.

I am proud to say I stuck with and finished this story, and I think I did it in a way that will leave my readers happy (at least, I'm hoping so).

To all of you who favorited this and had it on alert, and to everyone who reviewed, even if you never came back and continued reading, it all meant so much to me that you cared what happened to James and Vitalia (and Armand and Adela, because they're awesome, too) and that you were interested in this story.

Please review once more, just for the heck of it, and let me know what you thought about the ending and the story in general. I'll love you even more than I already do (!!!).

Thank you,

Luinuial


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